DARE
by illusioneyes
Summary: Enter Angela "Angel" Johnson, a Yankee thrown ass-over head into the chaos of Kong Studios. Without a citizenship, a visa, or any hope of getting back home, how can she get on paying Murdoc's rent and meeting his inccessant demands? Future MurdocxOC
1. Chapter 1 Hellooooo Dolly!

**I. Hellooooo Dolly!**

Angel glanced down at the note in her hand , then glanced up at the building before her in surprise. She moved cautiously towards the iron gates and placed a hand on them carefully, sliding the gate open with a deafening _screeech!_ Reading the note again and again, hoping she'd read the scribble that the head mistress had written wrong, she kept staring at the building.

" You've got to be kidding me..."

Gravestones dotted the land surrounding the hill she was supposed to climb to reach where she'd be staying for school. The gates suddenly slammed shut behind her, the sound echoing around the tombstones. Fog clung to every surface as she began to walk slowly towards the white building on top of the hill. It looked like an insane asylum, but with bigger windows. Clinging to her almost empty suitcase protectively, Angel tiptoed her way through the bone yard, absent-mindedly crinkling the note in her hand as she went.

The hike up the hill seemed to take hours, and when she reached the building, all silent and white, she wished she had turned away at the gate. Angel dropped her suitcase beside the front doors, reading the note again in her mind. The address on the paper matched the one on the post box next to the doorbell, but this asylum was no school dorm. Little did she know, the dorms were on the opposite side of town. Had the headmistress made such a mistake, she would have to be senile or blind, which she certainly was not.

Angel sighed, tired and irritated. First her parents' death (she choked up a bit at the thought), now this– shipped off to a boarding school in another country by her parents' will, abandoned by the school she'd been sentenced to. There wasn't any choice now except either finding a place to stay or finding a way back home to Chicago somehow.

" Fuck!" Angel shouted angrily, kicking her suitcase to the edge of the cliff, where it almost fell over into the graveyard, teeter-tottering there on the edge. " I shouldn't have come!"

She paced the edge of the hill, fuming silently to herself. She ran a hand through her hair as she began to panic. She searched for a different solution than that forbidding building before her. But what else could she do now, stranded, alone, out of money? Without a British citizenship she couldn't get a job to earn a ticket back to America or even to stay in a motel somewhere. She knew no one in this new country.

Angel stopped pacing and looked up at the dimming skyline, watching the sun starting to sink beneath the curtain of night. The night seemed constant these days, but that was comforting to Angel. The darkness was an assured thing at the end of each day and made her feel secure. But the graveyard in which she was stranded was not a pleasing place to be in when the comfort night came around. She didn't want to head back down the hill she'd just ascended. A raspy groan rose quietly from the graveyard, as if greeting the yellow-gold of evening; it sent a shiver up Angel's spine. She grabbed-up her suitcase and hurried back to the front doors. At first she paused, then worked up the courage from a louder moaning, and knocked four times. The door swung open instantly and Angel jumped back in surprise.

" Finally, I've been waitin' for you lot..."

A shirtless, black-haired man stood at the door smiling a big, sinister, impish smile. She noticed that, as his grin faded, his teeth weren't normal, they were pointed; like a vampire, but all over. He sneered as he looked at her, pulling up his pants slightly.

" Who the 'ell are you?" he asked loudly.

" Uh... I-I... er..."

" Well don't stand there babbling!" he snapped, tapping his foot, clearly agitated.

Angel could feel her frustration growing inside already, but managed to hide it and tried to form words into a slightly intelligent sentence.

" I was told to come here by the... uh..."

She held out the note and the man seized it from her, skimming it carelessly. The sound of footsteps crunching up the trail that Angel had hiked up and cheerful voices that followed it grabbed his attention before she had another chance to speak.

" Bugger, they're here," he snarled.

" But, I–"

" Get inside! Don't talk, don't be seen, just go!" he snapped, shoving the girl inside the white building and slamming the door behind her. Angel stood facing the door, in shock of what had just happened. She turned around and glanced about the room she found herself in. It looked like a waiting room attached to some sort of living room. The wide screen tv and table in the corner offset the front desk and elevator. She noticed a stack of brochures on the front desk and wandered up to it, taking one off the top. The front read 'Welcome to Kong Studios!'. Suddenly interested, Angel opened it carefully as she started to walk down the hallway in front of her.

The pamphlet was more like a map than anything else; like a blueprint of the building from the ground floor to the second floor. Angel walked blindly down the corridor until she reached a dead end. She glanced around, unsure of what to do until she heard voices echoing down the hallway she'd just come up. She recognized one as the gruff voice of the man who had answered the door. He suddenly appeared from the corridor and fell silent when he saw her. He turned on his heel and stretched out his arms to stop whoever was walking behind him.

"Er... uh, 2D seems to be... er, sleepwalking again... you might want to wait here a minute... j-just a minute."

He stormed towards Angel, glowering all the way. He ushered her into an open room, muttering darkly. He grasped her firmly by the forearm and pulled the girl towards the door on her right, pushing it open roughly. He tugged Angel inside and glared at her.

" I told you to keep out of sight! Stay here in the café!" He shook a finger at her like he was yelling at a dog. " Stay!"

She sat down in a booth and dropped her suitcase onto a table, grumbling. The man slammed the door shut and she was alone, again. The girl stared at her suitcase and opened it quietly, peering at the few clothes and possessions she had inside. She glanced down at the high-heeled shoes she'd been forced to wear to the school meeting, and pulled them off her feet, shoving them inside the suitcase angrily. She didn't care about finding the dorms anymore, she wasn't going to that school, not for a minute.

Angel laid back in the booth, staring at the ceiling, listening to the faint music coming from the floor below the café. She daydreamed to herself, waiting for something to happen. The door behind the booth opened a crack and she whipped around to face it, expecting the tall, black-haired man; but she didn't see anyone. The door was only open a crack, so the girl got up to close it. The door smacked against the wall and two black figures moved across the floor, a low hissing filling the room. Angel clung to the door handle and watched the two creatures clawing and attacking each other under the table she'd been sitting at a moment ago. One of them, a raven, tried to fly away from the other, but it's wings were tied to its leg, making each attempt to fly a sad failure. The other creature, which could only be described as a demon, snatched at it and growled. The raven screamed in rage as it was pinned down and scratched at.

Angel rushed forward and stepped on the demon's head, kicking it off the bird. She scooped it up in her arms and held it tightly as it struggled. She quickly untied the string tangled and knotted around its body. The demon came scrambling to her, baring a set of huge teeth for its small size. A horrible stench, like rotting rats and disease, lingered around it, filling the room quickly. She tucked the panicking bird under her arm and grabbed the suitcase off the table, swinging at the monster. She gave it two sound smacks on the head before releasing the bird from her protective grasp. It flew about wildly, unsure of whom to attack. The demon sank its teeth into the suitcase before it was hit a third time and forced it out of her hand. It threw the case recklessly into a corner and turned on Angel. It reached out a long, skinny arm and grabbed hold of the bracelet she wore with scraggly, sharp claws. Before she could do anything, it gave one strong tug and the bracelet broke in it's hand, beads flying everywhere.

Angel stood there in shock a moment, watching the plastic beads scatter all over the tile floor. That had been her sister's bracelet– her dead sister's. The broken string fell onto her bare feet and the demon cackled mischievously as he watched the star and moon shaped beads spread farther away. She clenched a fist tighter and tighter until her nails dug into her skin. And something happened to her. Angel's serene, ice grey eyes slowly began to cloud over with a ruby-red color, as if they were filling up with blood. Her anger at the demon grew until she herself let out a small growl. The creature crouched in wonder and cracked its tail, sniffing the tense air in alarm. In one short bound, she swung her strong, slender leg back and then forward into the demon's body, sending it flying into the opposite wall thirty feet away. It bounced off it with a loud screech and crawled off through a swinging door in the back of the café. The black raven cawed and yelled loudly, still flapping about in the air. But after the demon slipped away, it came to rest on the counter in the corner and watched the newcomer warily, preening its feathers.

Angel trembled with fading anger, standing in place. She took deep breaths and slowly let her fists go. The red drifted out of her grey eyes and she relaxed again. But before she could bend down to pick up the blue-green and black beads, a cold sensation, like long, skinny fingers, crawled across the back of her neck. The girl froze in place and her eyes went wide, searching for whatever was behind her. Terror danced in her spine as she turned her head to look over her shoulder.

The man from the front door slid around her with one gliding step and gave her a strange look of impression. It appeared that he'd seen her little show and enjoyed, or at least laughed at, what he saw. An expression of surprise swept across his face as he realized something and reached into his pants pocket, drawing out the wrinkled paper that she'd handed to him earlier.

" Now, what the 'ell do ya want?" he snapped suddenly.

" I..." She scrambled to regain her composure when he asked. " I was told to come here by the school I enrolled in, but apparently I'm in the wrong place–"

He cut her off by thrusting the paper back into her hands.

"Yeah you are."

" But I was hoping that maybe I could..." She knew that she had to choose her words carefully, but she wasn't sure how else to put it.

"... Sleep here for tonight."

The man wrinkled his broken-looking nose and grimaced.

" Sorry love, this ain't a hotel."

He started to walk off to the door, pulling it open violently.

" It's just... I've got nowhere to stay, and if I could just sleep here for tonight, I'll leave in the morning!" she called after him, tailing the man into the hallway.

" No," he said simply, looking up and down the corridor before him.

" Look, please can I just sleep on a couch, anywhere, for just tonight? I'll be quiet and stay out of the way and leave first thing tomorrow morning! Please, your graveyard creeps me out!"

He gave her a venomous glare out of the corner of his eye, and then glanced left and right up and down the corridor.

" Damn, where'd 'e go?! Fuck it..." He cupped both hand to his mouth and let out a deep, raspy call. " DULLARD!"

Silence followed the yell and Angel stood there in confusion, wondering if the man was really insane. She leaned against the doorway for support and looked down the hallway for an escape just incase he started talking to an imaginary friend. She shivered at the voice that answered.

" Whaaaaaaat, Muds?! I was in the studio!"

If this was an imaginary friend, why could she hear it? She clung tighter to the doorway in realization– maybe she was crazy too. But as she thought to herself, a figure appeared around the corner. Broad-shouldered and towering over the dark-haired man, a second man stood before him. His spiky blue hair– bluer than hers!– grabbed her attention and made her eyes travel down to his. Black, coal black, like shadows.

Despite the height difference, the dark-haired man seemed to take control of the taller, much younger one.

" Face Ache, did they leave?"

" I-I dunno..."

The tall man cowered somewhat, like he was about to be struck by his mother.

" You good fer nuthin'!" the first man yelled.

Angel couldn't help but stare at the ordeal between the two. Just then, the tall man looked in her direction and stood up to full height.

" Murdoc, who'ssat?" he asked in a squeaky voice.

The man named Murdoc spun around and gave her a look like he'd just remembered his ugly sister standing there.

" Oh, you're still here... Look, chickie, go home."

He waved her off and began to walk away, ushering the tall man to follow. She knew she had lost and that she would have to go back down through the graveyard and take her chances elsewhere if she didn't think of something quick.

" No! Let me stay! My family's rich, I can pay you!" she exclaimed in desperation.

Murdoc stopped and hovered for a moment, thinking to himself. He turned slightly and gave her an incredulous look.

" Pay me?" Murdoc asked.

Angel wasn't sure what to say that would sound believable, but the man nodded for her to follow before she made a fool of herself. Surprised, she hurried along behind the blue haired man, sticking close.


	2. Chapter 2 Too Many ForgetMeNots

**II. Too Many Forget-Me-Nots**

Angel waited in a chair in the corner of the studio Murdoc and the tall man had taken her to, clutching her suitcase tightly. She was waiting for them to be done with a recording that they suddenly busied themselves with. She learned to ignore Murdoc shouting curses, criticism, and all else at the tall man whom she also learned was named 2D. For the fifth time, Murdoc was getting on 2D about the lyrics to the song he was supposed to be recording.

" For the love of– Rrrrghhh!! 2D! Git out 'ere!!" Before he was even halfway out of the room, Murdoc starting yelling. " You stupid muppet! Can't you get this right?!"

" Sorry, Murdoc! 'M sorry!" he yelled back in a cracking voice, looking like he was about to cry.

Angel sat quietly as Murdoc flew off on another red-faced rant. She began a low hum that could hardly be heard through the screaming. But as Murdoc paused to take a deep breath, he stopped and listened to the quiet singing. He looked from 2D to the speakers, trying to identify the source of the sound. When he turned, the man saw Angel staring up at the colorful posters on the wall, moving her lips in the smallest twitch, which gave her away.

" 'Ey, love." Angel turned, recognizing her new title. " What're ya doin'?"

She gave him a surprised look and shrugged in response.

" What're ya sing'n?" he clarified in a fake sweet voice that made Angel feel slightly uncomfortable.

"... Song..." she answered slowly.

" And the lyrics?" he prodded, getting a little irritated by her evasive behavior.

She wasn't sure why it was such a big deal, and would have refused to repeat herself had it been anyone else. But seeing that he was letting her stay for the night, she decided it would be best to oblige. But what convinced her more than that was the look in his glassy, mismatched eyes that frightened her into talking.

" It's just a song I made up on the plane ride here, nothing big–"

" Sing it again." he demanded curtly.

She hesitated for a second, then cleared her throat.

" The feeling in, guts to the brain. It means you got it coming and you ain't got a chain. Their only attire is a typical vice. But if it gets you well, well you ain't being nice. So follow the lives 'till they cut up your eyes–"

As she sung the shaky tune, she glanced from Murdoc to 2D and back. She saw, as she sang, that Murdoc got a sly smirk on his face which grew as she went. 2D simply smiled a grin of broken and chipped teeth the whole way through. She stopped abruptly in mid-lyric and Murdoc's dark grin faded into a scowl.

" Well...?" he urged.

" That's it... there's no more." she answered, shrugging again.

Murdoc grumbled and looked around, muttering to himself. He scrambled to the studio desk and grabbed the first stubby pencil and scrap of paper he laid his eyes on. Thrusting them into her hands, the man pointed a finger at her and simply said, " Finish it."

She looked shocked, but sat down on the floor to do as she was told. But as she tried to write upon the carpet, the pencil stabbed through the paper.

" I need something to write on."

He threw a magazine on the floor. She looked at it before placing the paper on top of it and grimaced when she realized it was a Playboy.

She wrote in silence, occasionally tapping the eraser of the pencil to her chin while she thought to herself. 2D watched her eagerly, perched up on a high stool beside the studio desk. He smiled when she scratched something down, and looked disheartened when she stopped or erased something. Murdoc watched from a distance, pacing along the far wall to give her some space. Every so often, he would pass along beside her and glance over the girl's shoulder, which earned him an annoyed glare every time. She took a good long time to finish up, and when she did, Murdoc snatched it from her before she said a word. His pink and black eyes ran across the scrap of paper as 2D and Angel watched expectantly. A tense feeling hung in the air until he gave one small hint of a smirk and whirled around to face Angel.

" Sing it again, love."

The girl took the paper back from him and began from where she'd left off.

" So follow the lives 'till they cut up your eyes. You won't be even seeing if you ain't growing lies. They bought all the shit that should never be sold. They put a gun above it and a narrow behold. We are the happy landfill. We are the happy landfill."

2D swung around in the stool and bent down to turn a piece of equipment on, looking oddly ecstatic. Murdoc closed his eyes and thought deeply to himself, rolling the lyrics and music around in his head. His eyes snapped open as he mumbled the words to himself, tapping his foot to the beat. He turned on his heel to look at 2D and gave him an evil, but excited look.

" Git Noodle! Git 'er down 'ere, now!" he bellowed.

2D was out of the room before he finished speaking. Murdoc hurried around the room, franticly turning things on. Angel stood awkwardly in his whirlwind dash around the studio, hopelessly confused. The man turned to face her and she stood to attention. He threw her a wireless headset and jerked his head in the direction of the recording booth.

" Get in."

She hesitated and shook her head.

" Why–"

" Just do it!" he snapped.

She expected him to look angry, but a smirk played across his lips when he spoke. Angel silently slipped into the booth and stood alone in the soundproof room. The headphones hung around her neck, through which she could hear Murdoc fiddling with equipment. She watched him, interested and curious as to what was happening. The studio door opened noiselessly and 2D came inside, a larger man following behind him.

" Where's Noodle?!" Murdoc yelled.

2D's muffled voice came through the headset and Angel listened closely.

" I couldn't find 'er, but I got Russel!" he announced proudly.

" That isn't helpful if lard boy 'ere can't play guitar!!" he seethed through clenched teeth.

Angel listened to what Murdoc had said and walked towards the glass, putting her headset on.

" Hey, I can–"

The man 2D referred to as Russel began shouting at Murdoc and a screaming match emerged. Angel tried to get Murdoc's attention by yelling into the headset, but his was lying on the desk, too far away for her to be heard. She looked to 2D, who stood meekly next to the booth window. The girl banged on the glass with her fist and managed to grab his attention. She waved her headphones at him and put them on, and when he got the idea, he put on Murdoc's headset.

" I can play!" she yelled so he could hear her. " I can play guitar!"

The blue-haired man looked over at Murdoc and called his name quietly, but he couldn't be heard. He repeated himself louder and louder until he yelled at the top of his lungs, " _MURDOC!_"

" What is it, you tosser?!"

" The girl says she can play guitar."

He fell silent, feeling stupid.

" Oh... well... get 'er Noodle's guitar. Go on, bugger off!"

2D ran to the instrument room next door, almost forgetting to take the headset off. Russel followed at his own pace. The dark-haired man put on the headphones and sat at the studio desk, glaring up at Angel. She glared back.

" You could've told me earlier." he grumbled.

" You never asked." she replied, sticking out her tongue childishly.

He mimicked her with his own long, pointed tongue. Angel grimaced.

2D returned quickly, carrying a cherry-red electric guitar awkwardly. Behind him, Russel was bringing in a drum kit, which bashed against the door when he came in. 2D opened the door to the booth and handed-off the guitar carefully. The girl slipped the leather strap over her shoulder and looked around for an amp to plug it into. As she bent down to connect the wire to the speaker, the booth door flew open and Murdoc stormed inside. Angel jumped when she turned and saw him coming towards her. _Why is he always so angry? _she thought to herself.

He tweaked a string on the cherry guitar and grabbed the neck of the bass guitar he was holding.

" Play what I do."

He strummed a few repeating chords and Angel quickly picked it up.

" Keep playing it." he commanded, leaving the room.

She kept going, watching him talk to 2D and Russel. When he got back onto his headset, Russel began bringing the drum kit into the booth. Angel stopped and looked at Murdoc.

" Hey, what's–"

" Did I say stop?!" he yelled.

She jumped in surprise and continued to play. 2D and Russel kept bringing in instruments and equipment as she watched, trying to continue the chords. Every time she stopped, Murdoc noticed and snapped at her. After awhile, 2D came in and stood in front of a keyboard, smiling a crooked, broken smile. Russel sat behind the drum set and pounded on the snare a few times. It wasn't long until Murdoc himself came inside and handed off the lyrics to 2D.

" Sing it, Tusspot."

The dark-haired man picked up a black bass guitar and started the same chords Angel was playing. Russel began the beat to the song when 2D started to sing.

" The feeling in, guts to the brain. It means you got it coming and you ain't got a chain. Their only attire is a typical vice. But if it gets you well, well you ain't being nice. No, no. So follow the lives 'till they cut up your eyes. You won't be even seeing if you ain't growing lies. They bought all the shit that should never be sold. They put a gun above it and a narrow behold. We are the happy landfill. We are the happy landfill. All right!"

It took a moment for Angel to realize that they were recording and looked out the studio window in confusion; what was going on?! She looked to 2D, wanting to say something, but she knew better. If she messed up the recording, Murdoc would have her head. Angel stared out the studio window, seeing the red lights on the equipment that meant they were recording. She thought to herself quietly and her eyes fell to the floor in front of her. The last time she was in a booth like this was the day her sister–

She stopped playing and bit her lip, remembering that day. Murdoc's head snapped up from the strings on his bass to Angel and he stomped his foot.

" Stop, stop, stoooop!" He threw down his bass and went up to the girl with a wild look in his eyes. " What is your problem? Music not good enough, too fast, what?!"

She looked up at him with glassy eyes and glared, mustering up the most evil look she could.

" Oh, don't give me that look, love. You're wasting my time."

2D, who still hadn't stopped playing, looked over at Angel and frowned.

" M-Murdoc... maybe we should stop and pick up... tomorrow?"

He seemed timid and afraid to speak up to him. Murdoc turned on the boy, but he said nothing at first.

" Fine." He glanced at Angel. " But you're finishing tomorrow. No nervous break downs, ya hear me?"

She nodded, but kept glaring. The dark-haired man sighed and removed a cigarette from his pocket, snatching a lighter from the studio desk on his way out. Angel took off the guitar and set it up carefully against the wall and followed him out, remembering something important that she meant to ask him.

" Where am I supposed to sleep?" Angel asked loudly when she saw him walking down the hall.

He stopped and flicked the burning cigarette onto the cement floor, stomping it out.

" Follow me, love. Ol' Muds will take care of ya."

She paused, but followed after he rounded the corner and disappeared.

He walked nonchalantly down the dark stairway which led into a smokey-lighted carpark. By the stairway, an old, rickety Winniebago was nestled in the corner, the front-end right up against the wall. Angel watched him walk to the trailer from the top step in dismay. He waved for her to come to him and, reluctantly, she did. He stepped inside and stood before her.

" This is my love shack on wheels; you can sleep 'ere, dearie. There's a couch just over there..." he said, pointing inside. " And a bed if you'd prefer. However, it'll be occupied..."

He winked suggestively. Angel gave him a sickened look and shook her head slowly. He looked disappointed and scowled, muttering something about "those bloody virgins".

" Well come in an' sleep on the couch then, love." he mumbled, walking into the back.

" I'm not really that tired!" she called after him.

" Then go skulk the halls for a bit!"

She placed the suitcase in the doorway and slipped away, back up the dark stairs.


	3. Chapter 3 The Belly of the Beast

**III. So... I'm Trapped in the Belly of the Beast?**

So, Angel spent the next hour scrambling under chairs and reaching under tables trying to gather up all the beads that had scattered to the ends of the Earth, it seemed. There were only a few left. She scowled to herself– if she was going to make a run for it in the morning, she'd need her sleep. But she couldn't–_wouldn't_– leave without that bracelet. She stretched out her entire body to grab a teal star under the bar counter, but each time her fingers brushed it, it just moved farther away.

Cursing under her breath, she tried to dislocate her own shoulder in attempt to reach the bead, but her body was stricken motionless by the blood-chilling noise of a door squeaking open in the dark. She kept her wide-eyed gaze locked under the counter, not daring to budge for what seemed like hours. Her head finally released itself from its paralyzing hold and she peered around to look to the doorway. The shadow that crept out from under the figure was short and crooked, with wildly spiked hair. And embedded in the figure's face were a pair of slitted eyes. Angel's bones ran cold and she slid upwards. The eyes followed her. She took careful, calculated steps towards the door to her right, and felt up against it. The shadow didn't move, but its eyes watched her with a stern glare. She was gone before the creature could blink.

Angel sprinted into the rickety Winniebago and slammed the door behind her, but she instantly regretted it. She glanced down the trailer's hall to the "bedroom", wincing and ready to be yelled at, but no shout came. Satisfied that Murdoc was still asleep, she snuck over to the leather couch that the man had told her to sleep on. It didn't look very comfortable, and it wasn't, but she was too tired to care and rested her head against the black leather upholstery, letting out a long sigh.

" Depressed, eh, love?" a dark voice drawled from the shadows of the trailer.

The girl spun around to see Murdoc leaning against the far wall, giving her a dark, seductive smirk. She shook her head.

" No, I'm fine," she said, trying to regain her composure.

He came closer and sat down right beside her, leaning back comfortably.

" Cigarette?" he offered, sticking one in between his pointed teeth.

" No, I'm... er, not interested; a little asthmatic."

He lit the end under a cupped hand, obviously oblivious to anything she'd said after "no". Angel shifted anxiously as he leaned in a little closer, a mysterious glint in his mismatched eyes.

" So, you're leaving for your little school tomorrow then, eh?" he asked, sounding like he was talking to a child.

" No," she answered a little too quickly; he was making her unbearably nervous, and... a little angry. She choked down a cough.

" Hmm... pity. You seem very intelligent." he said, pressing up against her side. She shivered from the sudden warmth. " You're so cold..." he said, reaching his hand across her legs, leaning in further.

Angel's hand slammed down on his chest, shoving him back roughly. Her eyes showed the slightest tint of ruby, then dyed away.

" Back up, or I'll break you in **half**," she hissed.

" I see; feisty, huh?" As he spoke, his sour, hot breath danced across her alabaster skin. " Very well then."

He pulled away, letting Angel's tense body relax somewhat.

Murdoc slumped back in the couch and closed his eyes, as if he were drifting off to sleep, the cigarette still burning in his fingers. The girl felt increasingly uncomfortable in the fallow of silence and took her chance to break it.

" Why aren't you asleep?" she asked, watching the dark-haired man. For a moment, she thought he _was_ sleeping. His broad chest moved slowly with the relaxed breathing sleep brings, his closed eyes completely still under the black curtain of bangs. She reached over to put out the cigarette, but he opened his mouth and his dark voice spilled over his lips.

" I usually don't sleep when there's a woman in 'ere." He blinked once and stared up at the metal ceiling with an incredulous look, thinking deeply about something." Also, you're pretty damn loud."

Angel scowled as Murdoc rose to his feet and brushed out the deep wrinkles in his grey shirt.

" Oh, and by the way," he said, looking back at her with the most serene look she'd seen him give all day, his eyes all dim and glossy. " The address that you gave me? You're a horrible reader; it reads '2766' not '2366'. But I'm sure that that's a mistake... considering what that is. I dunno, maybe that's where you belong," he added, chuckling to himself.

Angel stared at him for a moment, unbelieving at first, then giving way to frustration. Either way, she wasn't going to end up at the school. He stalked back to his bedroom, mumbling a seductive 'good night' and coughing up his smoke with a grating noise, but Angel ignored him. She tossed her head and looked over at the Winniebago door; she knew she would have hated that school anyway.

Angel sighed deeply, arched over the metal desk in the recording studio. Her notebook was all hidden under her arms and drooping azure hair so Murdoc couldn't see that she was just writing gibberish. How did he expect her to write something new in five minutes?! Her palms got hot and her hands started shaking when she felt the full-force of Murdoc's expectant gaze boring holes into her back. Was the clock moving faster now? Did the room spontaneously shrink so that Murdoc was breathing down her back? He suddenly scowled and clicked his tongue impatiently.

" Do you mind hurrying this up a bit? I've got a prior engagement..."

" Go away," she growled through clenched teeth.

He pulled a hand through the tangles in his ebony hair as he leaned over her shoulder.

" J'est give me what you've got now."

He reached down to grab the black book, but stopped instantly when something sharp dug into his bony hand– her nails. His eye twitched.

" Mind retracting yer _claws_, luv?"

Angel turned her head slowly, her eyes practically spewing red electricity.

" Not yet," she demanded.

He gripped onto the notebook even harder.

" Give it to me." He gave a hard tug. " _Now._"

" No," she hissed. " You already have my bracelet. You can let me keep this."

" Which I'll **break** if you don' give this ta me."

She flinched back, then glanced back down at the book.

" F-fine." She ripped the notebook from his hands and threw it across the room. " Fetch," she spat.

He dragged a monstrous tongue across his vampire teeth and growled.

" _This_ is how ya treat yer host?"

She stiffened up a moment, then crept over to the lopsided notebook, laying pitifully on the floor, spine up and bent slightly. Angel gave it a tiny stroke of apology and picked it up again. Murdoc stretched out his arm again, palm up and waiting for the book.

" Give it."

" ... No."

His hand slid into his pocket and drew out a shadow into his hand. She could barely recognize the barrel as he aimed it at her little skull.

_**BANG!!!**_

Angel woke up gasping for air and clutching her chest. Her swimming eyes searched a swirling and fuzzy room, colors blending and sounds garbling.

" Ey' love, good thing yer up, recording's in a bit," Murdoc muttered, leaning over the girl.

Her free arm was sprawled out over the back of the black leather couch. Her black bangs that covered her right eye were brushed back, revealing her entire, pale face. But he wasn't interested in her pretty face at the moment, he only wanted to get the recording over with.

" Come on, get up," he grunted, blatantly agitated that she was taking too slow.

She rubbed terror sweat from her forehead and grunted discontentedly.

" R-right..."

He slipped a cigarette slowly between his lips; this girl was certainly a strange one– he'd have to keep an eye on her. He smacked his lips over the cigarette.

" Oh, by th' way, Noods dropped this off for you late last night."

He slammed something down on the table next to her. Angel stared absent mindedly at the small wooden chest beneath his hand.

" N-Noods? Who's... What what is it?"

Murdoc scoffed.

" How should I know?"

His boots echoed away, leaving Angel cold and bewildered. She wrapped up in her hoodie that she had packed in her suitcase and took the chest between her fingers, feeling the smooth surface in confusion.

" _ANGE' !! _" he screamed from the carpark.

Angel set the chest down and threw her hood about her ears and zipped up to keep herself warm in the chilly september morning.

Murdoc ambled into the studio, still muttering about the correlation between blue hair and brain cells, and sat down in the chair at the sound board. He waited in silence, staring into the empty recording booth. Angel could almost hear the strain on the bones in his neck when he turned to look at here.

" There's no one here..." he observed, looking very blank, but threatening at the same time.

" No," she replied bluntly.

" Why is that?" he hissed between pointed teeth.

" I'm guessing because its six in the morning..." she said, looking up at the analog clock on the far wall.

He swore under his breath and drummed his long, skinny fingers in sequence on the sound board. Angel's mind wandered as she gazed around the decorated studio and a song came to her lips. Quietly she sang to herself and let her daydreams slowly take over. Murdoc's mismatched eyes darted behind his drapes of ebony bangs to the girl and back to the recording booth, his rusty steel trap of a mind working madly. He listened intently to his own thoughts, then to Angel's soft voice. It was on a different level than any voice in the studio; not exactly better than 2D's voice, but much different. Not like Murdoc's deep, raspy, seductively velvet voice– much more gentle. And not like 2D's quiet, reedy voice– much clearer. It was like an angel's choir, and probably about as close to heaven as a Satanist like Murdoc would ever get. But the longer that he listened, he wasn't simply enjoying it, he was contemplating how to exploit it. The gears in his mind were already locking together, cranking out a plan. Why earn a quick buck on one song? Why not keep her around for a bit until she comes up with a few more? It was starting to sound less like a plan and more like a plot, but it didn't matter to him, it sounded good all the same. With nowhere to stay and nowhere to go, she was bound to snap-up an offer to stick around. Besides, he thought to himself, hands folded up under his chin, she was easy on the eyes. He stole a quick glance at the delicate-looking girl swaying her hips gently to the beat of her own silent music. She had the most dazed look on her face that made Murdoc want to puke, but he couldn't take his eyes away.

" Oi, babe!"

Out of reflex, she turned to look, but scowled at being called 'babe'.

" Don't call me that."

" Sorry ba-... er... luv," he said slowly. " Git over 'ere."

She took three long strides to his side and stood up straight, looking confused.

" You write songs like 'at other one on a regular basis?"

" Uh... sometimes."

" Good." he said, smirking darkly.

She shuddered and stood up on her tiptoes. " Where are you going with this?" Angel asked instantly.

" Well, I've got... a proposition for ya..." he hissed, looking overly confident in what he was about to propose.

" ... All right."

" How about you stay here and write a few more of them banging songs, and you don't have to pay me a cent."

The girl just stared at him, looking incredulous. She shook her head.

" You want me to stay... _here_?"

" What's that supposed to mean?" he snapped, furrowing his brow.

" N-no no, that's not what I–"

" Then it's settled," he mumbled, leaning back in his chair. " Yer stayin' 'ere for a bit." But then he cast her a dirty look. " But If I change my mind, or if ye get annoyin', well... let's just say you betta' have yer bags packed by the door until ya know I can tolerate ya."

Angel swallowed hard. This isn't what she intended on getting herself into.


	4. Chapter 4 Slay the Dragon?

**IV. Slay the Dragon...?**

Angel folded her school clothes neatly into the dresser, thinking to herself. How long was she supposed to stay here? A week? Two weeks? A month? The rest of her life? Murdoc was sure to let her know when she was no longer welcome. Trying not to worry, she turned to the stereo behind her. But as her eyes roved the speakers, she couldn't keep the worry down. She didn't want to stay here and get attached to a place she wasn't staying at for long. At the very least, she needed to leave within the week. Angel wasn't much for mooching, and a home for song writing is hardly a fair trade. It was time to get back to her solo, lonely, all-by-herself career, which was now getting... nowhere. How was she supposed to get better if all she was doing here was writing for a maniac like Murdoc? She fingered through the money in her wallet and sighed– $6.36. Yeah, just enough to buy a sandwich and get shot in a back alley trying to hitchhike. Where could she get money? Her eyes traveled down to the zipper of her hoodie, but she shook her head so hard that her cerulean and ebony hair flipped out in all directions.

" No, there has to be a million better ways for a girl to make money than _**that**_."

But without a citizenship, what could she do? She flopped down on her back and stared up at the blank white ceiling. Well, she could try life in the United Kingdom... She sighed. Besides, all that was left in America for her was that stupid woman of a relative. No money. No school. No career. Just a roof over her head and what that lady could possibly cook without setting off the fire alarm. And it wasn't like she didn't already think of calling up her Aunt and begging for a way home, but knowing that woman, she would either never pick up or tell her to get her own way back. As soon as she could make the money to, she decided, she would return to America.

Her icy grey eyes tilted back up to the stereo as her thoughts of money troubles melted away into what was around her now. It was a good quality sound system, and to her intense delight, full CD racks flanked it. Pouncing on the first shelf she saw, Angel skimmed over each label; 'Gorillaz', 'Blur', 'Black Sabbath', 'The Kinks' 'Iron and Wine'... They were apparently in no real order. She bent down to plug in the stereo and pulled out a Marilyn Manson disc from the shelf, shoving it in the dusty slot. A strong, loud beat filled the nearly empty room, which she finally realized was solely used for storing music. There were hundreds of old records stacked up in the closet, along with a crumpled little sign shoved in-between them reading: 'Crappy old junk, Murdoc's, DON'T TOUCH-- 2D'. A bunch of old, broken recording equipment hung around the back corners too. She knew they were broken because 2D had also placed a sign on them saying 'Effin Broke'. And then there were the boxes. Rows and rows of boxes, records piled up to the tippy-top of each one. Murdoc had told her to move these out into the hall and he'd take care of them later. By 'later' he probably meant 'never'. But she carried them out anyways, it gave her something to do at least.

Angel stacked another box of records against the wall, dust rising in a cloud. She brushed off the sides of the cardboard and turned to get another box out of the closet, But when she looked up, Murdoc was shuffling through the vynals. She stood still for a minute, wondering if he had something to say, or if he was just poking around for nostalgia's sake.

" So, all this dust doesn't bother ya?"

Angel shook her head and wiped her hands on her jeans.

" I don't mind getting dirty," she said with a half smile.

" I meant yer asthma," he hissed, giving her a crooked glared.

She swallowed hard– that wasn't a lie... she just hadn't had an attack since she was seven. What scared her was that he actually remembered. His mind may be twisted, she thought to herself, but he's still sharp as a tack! He blew a thin coat of grime of the cover of a record and glanced halfheartedly at the track listing.

" 'F ya intend to stick around, I'd cut the bull." He smirked knowingly to himself. " 'Specially wit me."

Her eyes traveled away from his, her mind throwing up a red flag– "CAUTION! Here be dragons!" But she looked up when he began swearing and fumbling around in his pockets.

" An' I thought I told ya to take these! Stupid girl, stop leaving girly things in my trailer. People will get the wrong idea." He pulled out a fistful of familiar plastic beads and Angel's eyes lit up; that must have been what was inside the tiny chest. " Noods keeps bothern' me 'bout these."

He offered the beads to her and Angel lunged for them.

" Thank you! I thought I'd lost them for good!"

She didn't want to mention that something that crept around after dark scared her away last night, so she left that pretty little detail out. She reached to take them from his open hand, but he clenched his fist and took a step back, smirking.

" Hm, so these seem pretty important."

" Yeah, can you give them back?" he asked politely though through clenched teeth.

" Hm," he hummed, stroking the stubble on his chin, dragging his reptilian tongue across his jagged teeth dramatically. " You don't seem to want to stay, eh dearie?" He clicked his tongue. " Well, maybe you won't wanna take off without these."

He slipped the beads back into his pocket.

" Give it back!" she yelled, blood rushing to her stormy eyes.

Murdoc scowled and cleaned out his ear with his finger.

" Don't blow a goddamn blood vessel, ye'll get it back. J'est settle in for a bit, 'kay?"

" ...How long is a 'bit'?"

He glanced up at the ceiling and thought deeply for a minute.

" 'Ow 'bout... two weeks. 'At's 'bout as long as I can stand ya anyways."

Murdoc figured that in two weeks, he would be able to suck out as many songs as he could from her before she got too irritating. That would probably be long enough for his sex appeal to kick in anyways. He smirked to himself, feeling very proud and confident in his clever little plan. Angel had to try hard to swallow her anger, but the red leaked from her eyes and the calm grey returned.

" How will I know that you'll give my beads back?"

Murdoc frowned.

" You don' trust this handsome face?"

" ... I want something in exchange."

His frown soured into an agitated sneer.

" You're already livin' in my goddamn house. I wouldn't push yer luck, luv."

She ignored him.

" I want something that I can hold onto until you give my bracelet back," she said firmly, her voice unwavering.

" Er... I'll think of something."

" No, if you're going to take that now, then I won't have anything to show for it."

He growled in his chest, but nevertheless, began to look over himself and pat-down his pockets. All he had on him were some keys on a key ring, the broken bracelet, an inverted cross pendant, and a corkscrew– he doubted she'd be interested in any of those. Oh well, he thought to himself, cussing the girl out silently as he pulled the pendant from his neck, at least it would shut the stupid broad up. This pendant was a cheap replacement for the one he usually wore– the cross was being polished. She caught the necklace by the flimsy cord and glanced at it.

" I don't want this."

"You don' have to want 'em. J'est don't leave with it, awright?"

Until his real one came back, he sneered inwardly, then he didn't care where that one went.

She hung the cord around her neck and stuffed the pendant down the front of her shirt.

" Okay, fine."

He turned on his heel at that and lit the end of a cigarette before disappearing back into the elevator at the end of the hall.

Angel leaned against the boxes and sighed; just like in her dream, Murdoc had taken one of the only things she cared about and now had them in his slimy grasp. That impossible man had now made getting away several times harder. But she'd get away somehow; she wasn't going to get anywhere selling songs to a Satanist bassist in exchange for a roof over her head. She turned off the pulsing music– she wasn't in the mood anymore. As she skimmed the discs, however, she had to admit, it was nice knowing she had somewhere to crash for a week. Maybe her current situation wasn't as bad as she thought. Maybe a change would be nice, she wondered, picking up a 'Metalica' CD. Maybe things would turn up...

Angel took a moment to admire her work when all the boxes were emptied into the hall, then stared into the empty closet. She looked over her shoulder at the tangle of instruments and broken sound equipment and sighed– there was still a lot more to do, but she was glad there was plenty of busywork to keep her distracted. She ran her fingers over an odd shaped electro-harp. Curious, and eager to test it out, Angel flicked the switch and strummed across the strings, which produced a hideous, grating noise that filled the room! She clapped a hand to the strings, hoping to silence the vibration, and switched it off. Everything was silent except her nervous breathing. But almost instantly, her eyes wandered over to an old mandolin that had its finish worn away with sunlight and age and was riddled with dents and deep scratches. The strings were all out of tune, and the neck had a chunk of wood missing, as if it was smacked against something purposely, but it was still playable. Angel took the mandolin up in her arms and twisted and turned the strings until they were perfectly in harmony, and played a few notes lightly.

" The dark hunter stalks his prey, with a bow carved of glass. A spark in his eye, his arrow does fly, into a heart carved of stone."

Taking the pen that rested behind her ear, she shuffled over to her suitcase, where her lyric book laid in rest. Spreading it open in her lap, her eyes moved up from the paper to the boarded-up windows. A small crack let evening light shine in with a warm pink glow. blending in with the fluorescent lights and dying away. Angel took her first real look around the room and sighed deeply to herself. Everything had a light grey coating of dust, spider webs laced the ceilings, and every time a sink was turned on, or a toilet flushed, the sound of water rushing through the pipes in the ceiling overhead. The floor was hard concrete, wonderful to sleep on, she thought to herself, and her stomach began to hurt a little. This was the room she was meant to sleep in, but where was she supposed to _sleep?_

Murdoc flicked what was left of his cigarette into 2D's soda pop and coughed deep in his chest, reaching for an open beer. 2D peered sadly into the drink, the raised shadowy eyes to the man sitting beside him.

" 'Ey Muh-doc? Where'd 'at girl go?"

" What girl?" he growled over the edge of the can pressed to his lips.

" 'At one wit... wit the black an' blue 'air?"

" Eh, she's... shackin' up with us for a bit."

" Oh!" he exclaimed in surprise, thoroughly confused, but his eyes sunk to the table. " Oh..." he repeated sadly. " Ta be wit you, huh?"

" Don' even think 'bout that, creampuff, she ain't my type," he slurred.

" Who ain't you're type?" Russel asked, sitting down at the table.

" Ange' girl," 2D said, sort of remembering her name. " She's livin' wit us, ya know?"

Russel's white eyes rested angrily on Murdoc, who stared back unfazed.

" News to me," the drummer yelled at Muds.

" Listen, listen, awrigh', it's not like I'm inviting people into Kong like a goddamn hotel. She's a songwriter, yeah? And a little back up vocal without a payin' a singer wouldn't be too bad, eh?" He crushed the can in his hand. " 'At's how she's repay'n us. And with any luck, she'll run away screaming before my two weeks are up."

" But she said she's rich," 2D chimed in.

" She's ain't got money," Murdoc growled. " Why else would she be so desperate to bunk up in rain-sodden Essex? Besides, she's a Yankee broad; she's got no idea where the hell she is," he said, searching for another cigarette– this day was becoming very trying.

" What if she's a fan?" Russel asked, still not convinced.

" She dunnit know who the hell we are, she dunnit even know who Noods is," he snarled. " Now leave me alone."

" Where's she sleeping?" a girly voice piped up from the hallway.

Murdoc turned around to see the little, or at least little to him, Japanese girl standing beside the open door, her eyes fixed on Murdoc intently. He chuckled throatily to himself and blew out a haze of smoke through the cracks in his sharp teeth.

" Hehhhh-heh-heh... Gave 'er the old music storage to sleep in."

" But 'at dudn't 'af a bed," 2D said slowly.

" 'Course it doesn't, dullard!" he snapped. " She's gonna come crawlin' to one of _us_ to sleep. And guess who she's eternally grateful to for the current house an' home, huh?" he asked, raising his eyebrows.

Russel rolled his eyes.

" You're delusional."

" 'Ey Noods, why don't ya..."

When Murdoc looked to the doorway, the girl was already gone.

" Humph, she's gettin' weirder and weirder," he mumbled, taking another long drag.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

NOTE: Answer the questions I should have probably made clearer. Angel's eyes, first off– she has a genetic condition wherein when her blood vessels contract (when she's angry) the blood is visible in her eyes, hence the red color. It doesn't hurt her at all. Second, the dream. She's NOT psychic, it was just a coincidence.


	5. Chapter 5 Comment dit on?

**V. Comment dit on?**

The little Japanese girl wandered from the second floor to the third, thinking earnestly about the stranger in Kong. She had only seen her once the previous night, but she had run away before introductions could be made. Murdoc invited her in, so maybe it was best to stay strangers– she may be an evil, sour person, or another temporary "girlfriend" of his. She pulled a hand through her smooth violet hair and straightened her burgundy tank top so it met the top of her jeans while she waited impatiently for the elevator doors to open up to the third floor. Russel and 2D seemed not to mind her, so she decided to give this new woman the benefit of the doubt. But when the metal doors slid open, she saw boxes in the hallway and her face pulled into a frown. This person was moving things out like it was her own house! She ran to the boxes and knelt down beside them– empty?

Her green eyes peered into the crack of the door and she couldn't keep her curious hands from drawing the door open– no one inside! She took tentative steps inside, staring down at the floor. Old records were dutifully alphabetized just inside the door, the dust and dirt gently wiped away with a rag that laid crumpled beside the stacks. A slightly crippled record player rested with a vinyl still turning silently on the turntable.

She shut the machine off, but couldn't take her eyes of it.

She hadn't been up here in a long while, but she distinctly remembered this room bearing all of Murdoc's old musical instruments and inspirations from before she had joined his band. She looked over the instruments and sound equipment, which were all recently touched and looked over to see if they still had some use. Whoever this new person was, guest of Murdoc's or no, obviously had a strong liking for music.

The room itself was virtually untouched, however; boards were still nailed over the windows to shut the light out, and cobwebs still hung like gossamer ornaments along the ceiling. The girl rubbed her bare arms to warm herself up– the draft was horrible! Murdoc had really done his worst when he picked this room for his guest. As the girl made up her mind to search for the stranger elsewhere, the closet door moved ever-so-slightly. She turned on a dime and raised her fists up. Pausing to glance down, she relaxed slightly at the sight of a woman's leg sprawled out of the closet.

She approached the door carefully; was she... dead?

" Excuse me, Miss?" she called, cracking the door a bit more.

At the sight of the blue-haired girl, she sighed with relief.

The visitor was sleeping in the closet! A hoodie wrapped around her like a blanket, she leaned heavily on the walls of the closet and slept quietly. Noodle crouched down and poked her leg gently– she certainly was a strange one.

The girl flinched and her eyes fluttered open, still glazed over with sleep.

" Wha–? Uh..."

She blinked and looked up at Noodle, sounding confused.

" Di-did Murdoc change his mind?"

Noodle stood up quickly and bowed, forgetting herself.

" Hello, I'm Noodle."

She sat up, bracing herself against the wall and rubbing her face.

" O-oh... Hi Noodle, I'm Angel, nice to meet ya," she mumbled reaching out a hand towards her.

The Japanese girl took it tentatively and stared at Angel's hair, losing concentration for a moment, stroking her chin in observation. What really interested her was this lady's hair. Azure blue– lighter and more vibrant than 2D's, until it swooped down over her right eye, where it fade to coal black. She felt confident enough about the girl to go right up to her and examine it up close.

" Erm..." Angel cracked a nervous smile. " I-it's natural."

" ... Are you... a relative of 2D?"

Angel was suddenly very awake.

" Oh! No, no, Murdoc's just..." She paused and sighed deeply. " Letting me crash here for a few days.

She glanced over at the window, but saw no golden light seeping through to welcome her second night in Britain. Noodle stared into the closet and took a large gulp of air.

" Angel-san," she started slowly. " Would you like a real place to sleep for the night?"

Angel shook her head and put her hands up in protest.

" O-oh no! Don't bother, I'm good, I'm–" She looked behind her. " I'm covered."

The Japanese girl gave her a sideways glance, but couldn't let it go.

" There is a living room on the second floor, I'm sure that Murdoca-san wouldn't mind," she said, taking one last bow before she disappeared into the hallway.

Angel sat down with a _thump_ and leaned against the wall– people here came and went dizzyingly quickly. She just sat a moment, unsure of what to do, but decided that since she had returned to the land of the waking, writing a little didn't seem like such a bad idea. Her watch read 9:15– she had been asleep for a while, but it wasn't too late to write and maybe bounce around some idea for Murdoc. Maybe if she did what he wanted, he'd get bored with her and leave her alone. So, armed with a pen and an empty mind, Angel moved over to the stereo.

" Okay," she mumbled. " Something Murdoc would like..."

But her eyelids were still heavy with sleep, and soon, the pen slipped out of her limp hands.


	6. Chapter 6 Too Close to the Curb

** VI. Too Close to the Curb**

Murdoc lounged in the hot bath water that filled the black granite tub, his legs dangling listlessly over the polished edge. Awake surprisingly early, he had managed to drag himself upstairs for a much needed bath and shave. He stared up at the white paint chipping on the ceiling and let his mind wander– first to his lovely visitor the previous night, then to his urge for a cigarette, but then to the stranger living in his Studio. She was becoming a problem child. On one hand, he thought, she seemed to be getting a bit more comfortable in Kong, which was a problem, but on the other hand, she wasn't exactly bad company.

" Fuckin' strange," he hummed to himself, weighing the pros and cons of this drifter. " Pretty sharp though..." He ran a wet hand through his jet black hair as his lips curled up into a smirk. " Bangin' body..."

Maybe she would make the two weeks set up for her, but he had to keep his eye on the prize– getting her notebook and getting her the hell o-u-t, OUT! As he thought of the small black book, lovingly adorned with fleur de lis and golden vines, he shifted uneasily in the water. Those songs she wrote were decent... and it wasn't that he didn't have any ideas for himself... it was just that... he'd been busy... And since the rest of the band was winding down from Demon Days, it was the perfect time to strike! And getting a jump on writing was crucial. He'd be damned if Noodle beat him to the punch on writing another CD. Sure Demon Days was brilliant beyond all intelligent belief... and it went Platinum... five times... it did **not** mean that Noodle was a better lyricist. It was **his** band after all... All he need was a little creative... push.

He rubbed the wrinkles developing on his fingertips while he contemplated his exact plan of action. First he would try to charm the notebook off of her, batting his eyes a bit or sneaking up to her room after a good, long session in his Winniebago. He chuckled– that latter was certainly preferable. Then, after successfully obtaining it, he'd kick her out on the curb. Murdoc stroked his cheek and smiled knowingly to himself.

This would be too easy.

Angel woke that morning to the sound of hot water groaning and gushing through the iron pipes overhead. It gave her such a start that her pen and notebook went flying. And so began day three of her European excursion. Gasping, but slowly regaining her cool, she crawled her way over to her suitcase, where at least a change of clothes awaited her. But to her sickening realization, the rest of her clothes and belongings were now en route elsewhere in England, thanks to her half-blind aunt. Now she was stuck with one clean shirt and an extra pair of socks, someone out there was laughing at her panties. But at least she could wear parts of her uniform as well, which extended her options a little. And when those got dirty, she could go Lady Godiva or wash her laundry in the local pond since she didn't have enough money to pay for a washer at the laundromat, let alone the soap. The thought of spending the next few months in basically the same clothes made her gloomy, but things could have been worse. She could have wandered the streets of England randomly and gotten robbed and raped instead of sleeping in Kong Studio, so she considered herself relatively lucky. Still, thoughts and doubts of how the hell she could possibly pull this off with almost now money and no citizenship clouded any sunny perspective.

Instead of aimlessly reasoning with herself, Angel pulled herself up and made her way down the hall, jeans and shirt in hand. If she remembered correctly from Murdoc's brusque tour of the household, there was a bathroom on this floor, along with a bedroom no one used and a few other rooms that she preferred to keep a secret. But of course, the guest had to sleep in the storage room. Not that she was a guest...

Angel wanted to change in the bathroom so she could fix her hair for the first time in two days and maybe try to scrounge up some toothpaste. Her mouth tasted like dead dog, and she couldn't get it out no matter how many drinks of water she took. After stumbling eagerly into a supply closet, she managed to find the bathroom, but she kept her eyes to the floor when she went in. If this room was as grungy as "her room", then she didn't want to know. There could have been mold all around her, or flesh-eating insects, but she would have no idea if she didn't look. The light, which had already been turned on, buzzed quietly when she entered, and immediately stopped when the door shut. Someone must have woken up and left the light on, which didn't exactly comfort her. 2D and Russel didn't seem to have much of an opinion about her, and she wasn't sure what Noodle thought, or if she even wanted her there at all. The last person she wanted to run into was Murdoc. What a heel, what a grade-A pervert, what a low-life, scheming little—Angel took an unusually long breath of air, then let it out as slow as possible, trying her best to remain level-headed. That seemed to be increasingly important to maintain in the studio.

As she stared at the white door, setting her skirt on the sink, she thought maybe she should take a bath or a shower. Her hair had gone limp with grease and her skin felt damp with grime. Dust coated her clothes from the boxes in the storage room, and a spider web was stuck to the side of her jeans. Angel began to unbutton her shirt, tossing it aside with her skirt. She hated that damn thing, and a soon as she got into her jeans, it was going directly in the garbage. Angel felt that it made he look like a cheap whore with some kind of Catholic school girl fetish. She shuddered at the thought.

But as she turned around to slip off the rest, she stopped cold, frozen in place by what she saw.

There Angel stood—completely exposed, and Murdoc was staring right back at her.

"Heh-heh-heh, oh please, don't let me interrupt you!"

Her spine had been ripped out and shoved directly through her stomach. He toyed with his hair for a moment, snickering to himself.

"So, is that bra coming off, or what?" he asked. " I mean, there's plenty of room in here for the both of us; why waste the water?"

Her cheeks flushing, she reached for something, anything to cover herself, but the only thing within reach was that damn skirt, which made her situation seem even more twisted.

"You could've SAID something you unbelievable ass!"

"Hey! I resent that! Yer the on who walked in on me!" To clarify his point, he stood up and smiled brilliantly. "You could have molested me in my nice, pleasant bath!"

_**SLAM!**_

Angel's boot collided with Murdoc's wonky nose and sent him reeling backwards into the bath water.

"_Hope you liked it, because you're never seeing it again!_" she cried, enraged.

Shaking with anger and embarrassment, she snatched her clothed and ran back down the hall, not bothering to shut the door behind her. He grasped wildly around for a towel and wrapped haphazardly it around his waist, following her out.

"ANGE'! Annnnnnge'!!"

She didn't stop running until she was back in the storage room. She slammed the door and sprinted to the closet, hearing already loud footsteps growing louder.

Murdoc threw open the door, water dripping down his legs and forming a puddle in the doorway. No one was inside. He took a quick look around the instruments, checking behind amps and recording equipment that was large enough to hide behind, but to no avail. He clicked his tongue and rubbed the developing bruise on his face.

"I'm gonna give you to the count of three to come out, Ange'."

He tightened the towel around his hips.

"One."

He heard a very quiet shuffling noise come from the closet.

Bingo.

"…Two."

Murdoc turned the doorknob gently and pulled the door open silently, peering in to see a cardboard box.

"Three."

Angel screamed as he pulled the box into the middle of the room and kicked it on it's side, her head hitting the carpet hard. She tried to kick away the man that grabbed her by the ankle, but he was quicker than she was.

"Get off!! You **psycho**!!"

But he didn't seem to hear her scream and flipped her onto her back, pinning her hands to the floor and stepping on her stomach to keep her from struggling.

"Penalty!"

Her eyes grew wide, her entire body freezing over when she heard the all too familiar squelching sound or phlegm being built up in the back of his throat.

"Don't. You. Dare."

His lips pursed tauntingly and Angel trashed around, not caring that she was bruising her ribs or twisting her wrists, panicking at the thought of being spat on.

"No! Nonononononoooo!!"

He sucked the saliva back into his mouth and smirked.

"Then apologize."

"I have nothing to apologize for!"

He hacked up another mouthful and Angel shuddered, clenching her eyes shut as tightly as she could, waiting for his punishment. But she didn't feel anything hit her face. Her right eye opened just a crack to see Murdoc hovering over her, chuckling to himself.

"You'd rather haf' me spit on ya than apologize? Hahaha! Yer an interesting chick."

Without an explanation, he let her go and stood up, retightening his towel.

"I'll let it slide this once since ya got backbone, but one more **toe** outta line, and you'll get worse than that."

"You **are** a psycho!" she cried, her eyes wide like saucers.

"Sweet Satan, you've no idea," he snickered, walking towards the door with a self-satisfied stride. "Oh, by the way, I prefer red bras on a girl with that much cleavage." He moved his hands in the shape of an exaggerated hourglass. "Compliments their assets."

He managed to shut the door behind him just as an empty CD case came flying towards his head.


	7. Chapter 7 Evolution

**VII. Evolution**

Kong Studio's kitchen was extremely unwelcoming to Angel, the cabinets revealing no sustenance and the refrigerator stuck as if saying, " Nothing here for you." She braced herself against the door and pulled hard– but it held fast, refusing her food. Grumbling to herself, she leaned on the counter and wondered if she should spend what little money she had on something to eat. Murdoc hadn't said a word about meals and it wasn't until she was alone again that she noticed her stomach whining loudly for food. That last thing she had eaten was a lunch on the plane ride, and the last thing she'd drank was water from the tap yesterday by sticking her head under the faucet.

Losing hope, her eyes wandered to the phone hanging on the wall and the doubt from earlier crept into her mind. There was no way she could pull off living in the UK by herself... she needed to call her aunt. Taking a deep cleansing breath, she approached the corded telephone and took it gently in her hand. The dial tone made her falter, fingers hovering over the numbers, wondering if maybe she was doing the wrong thing. But she dialed the overseas extension she'd been taught and then familiar number, feeling the floor fall out from under her when the call went through. There was no going back.

Beep beep.

Beep beep.

Beep beep.

Bee-

" Hello?" a nasally voice crooned. " Who is this?"

" ... I-it's Angela."

There was a crackling sound on the other end.

" Hmm, you got there, then?" she asked gruffly. She most likely had company over, maybe her daughter.

" ... There's been a change of plans, Aunt Jeanne. My stuff got sent somewhere else and all I've got is my travel bag. Can you..." She sighed deeply.

" What?"

" Can you wire me the money I've got saved up?"

" Hmph, why don't you have your card?"

Angel's eyes went wide; her bank card was with her bags! What if someone took out her money?! Panic filled her– that was all the money she had to her name! How could she have forgotten about her bank card?

" C-can I get out money with it here?"

" I don't see why not. Now, is there a problem?" she asked curtly.

Of course, she really didn't want to know why Angel needed her savings, or where her bags had gone.

" No, bye."

The receiver clicked quietly and she hung in suspended animation, thinking about how to get her bags back. Didn't Murdoc say that she had the wrong address? Her chest clenched up– she didn't want to see him again today, and if possible, ever. She pawed around in her skirt pocket and pulled out the scrap of paper, the ink smeared over. '2366' is what she thought it read, but with closer inspection, the '3' was a '7' with a strike through the middle. All she needed to do was find that address and get her trunk, and, if any of the contents were still there, she may have a chance of getting by. She had no intention of sticking around after she could find a cheap apartment to move into.

Walking through the hall, holding the paper out in front of her, she was deep in thought. She had at least a thousand dollars saved up, which wouldn't get her very far if she didn't get a job. Maybe she could survive a month, tops. But getting a job meant getting a citizenship, and she didn't want to think about how expensive that might be. She had her passport at least, which provided her with a little comfort. All that was left was a way to get to '2766'... Murdoc obviously knew where it was, but she would rather wander around aimlessly than ask him to take her there. Who else resided in Kong? There was Noodle, the teenager she had met last night, but she didn't feel comfortable asking her, they didn't even know each other. There was also two other men, 2D and Russel. One of them had to be able to help...

But that meant finding them first. Angel peeked her head into any door she came across, regretting some and finding new things at every turn. She discovered a billiard room, a cinema, and even rooms that seemed to belong to the inhabitants of Kong. But alas, no people. Angel could feel the pressure building in her skull as she looked– what the hell was she doing? It was time to take some initiative and find the damned building herself... after she tried one more door.

It was the studio, and what she saw inside made her heart stop. What was is about watching the motley team of musicians work together that made her feel so insignificant? She wasn't a novice by any means, she'd seen and done everything they were doing. But something about how they flowed together like water made her reach for her stomach and her eyes lock. They passed one another, speaking volumes with a glance or mild comment, as if they shared one mind. Each instrument played its own harmony, completely unrelated to each other, but when it blended together, the sound was like an angel come alive. How could such a broken fragment of a studio practice so easily crush anything she'd ever done?

2D's voice, so much different than hers, entranced her. It was rare to pull out specific word from the thick Crawley accent, and other lyrics were mumbled to the point where they mashed together in incomprehensible melodies, but they left her with an empty feeling. She still had so much to learn. Her eyes sweeped the room for the man who was missing. Murdoc was leaning over a man she's never seen before, his hands pressed to either side of the headphones he was listening to intently. With a hum, he considered each note, tapping his foot in time with the bass, nodding. His words were low and simple, but it made her stare at the man in slight awe. So decisive and sure that his opinion was all that mattered. She always depended on the opinion of others when it came to things like arranging songs.

Angel slowly closed the door and recollected her thoughts, the empty feeling seeping from her stomach up to her chest and throat. She'd find '2766' herself.


	8. Chapter 8 Now You See Me

** VII. Now You See Me...**

When attempting to retrieve your lost baggage, certain emotions arise; worry that something is missing fear that you won't be getting it back, and an insatiable temper that lunges out at anyone between you and those bags. Angel was not only trying to coax her luggage from an unbelieving six foot tall, four foot wide man made strictly of bones and muscle, but trying to get it back from the Essex Institute for the Mentally and Emotionally Disturbed. It sat, waiting in their storage room, where they kept unexpected, unclaimed packages. She was relieved that nothing could be missing, but proving that it was indeed hers was becoming a vexing task. She couldn't believe that after walking for miles and hunting the damned place down for hours hat she would be denied and sent away. Angel brushed the black fringe out of her reddening face and tucked it behind her ear, where it joined its cerulean counterparts.

" I'm sorry," he sighed. " But without identification, I can just go ahead and give bags away."

" Wait! I-I've got my passport! Will that be good enough?"

He nodded halfheartedly. She rummaged wildly through the only suitcase she had now, her stomach winding into a knot as she realized it wasn't there... Her passport was gone. Her eyes moved slowly back up to him.

" I-if you go get them, I can tell you exactly what's inside."

He rubbed a hand roughly over his shaved head and sighed again.

" Miss, please—"

" Isn't-isn't there any other way to get my stuff back?"

His lips remained stiff, but as he searched the girl's face, his resistance failed him.

" I could take you down to Administration. They might be able to help."

Angel wondered if in the United Kingdom, the word "Administration" really meant "deaf, broken record". After being asked seven different ways if she was a visitor, a relative, or a new patient, she snapped.

" I told you, I just want my bags. They're down in the storage room with tags that say 'Angel Johnson'. Could you _please_ go get them?"

" ...So are you a visitor?"

Angel's hair bristled up and her arms clenched– it was like arguing with a wall.

No, at least walls did their jobs.

" Yes, why not? I'm a visitor."

The brunette woman smiled checked off a box on the application she held so daintily on a clipboard.

" Name?"

Her eyes narrowed.

" Angela Johnson."

The '_skritch-skritch_' of the near-empty pen grinded sharply at Angel's already developing headache, forcing a hand to comfort her temple. The secretary rose from her seat and presented her with a sticky, yellow name tag, which she was asked to place on her shirt. Reluctantly, she slapped it over her heart and leaned heavily on the white desk. Surprisingly, for the amount of time it took to find someone that would do anything about her problem, it didn't take long at all for the black bags to find their way to that same desk. But apparently, she wasn't even close to getting them back.

" Do you have anything to prove that these are yours?"

" Er, well... no, not in a manner of physical identification, exactly... But-but I can tell you what's inside."

" Hmn, Miss—"

" Open the first case," she interrupted, then wincing in desperation. " Please?"

Hesitantly, she did so.

" My clothes are in there. There should be one black shirt, one white shirt, three or four pairs of jeans, underwear, one Korn tee, on Ramones, one Sex Pistols, one Flogging Molly, and one... Marilyn Manson?"

The woman shuffled through them.

" ...It's Black Sabbath."

" I can tell you what on the flash drive in the mesh pocket if you're not convinced. Rob Zombie, Metalica, Ramones, Avenged—"

" Th-that's all right," she said, raising a hand. " I get it."

Her face brightened.

" So I can have my bags back?"

" ...Unfortunately, without proper identification, it remains in the Institute's custody. If you comeback with, say, a birth certificate..."

" Listen lady," Angel hissed, having thoroughly reached the end of her rope. " I'm having all that mailed to me, and I haven't gotten it; my passport's missing and my driver's license and bank card are in there! Just look!"

" Ma'am, please don't raise your voice."

The woman jumped at the sound of a metal dolly being knocked over and Angel followed suit, leaping up onto the counter as a woman slammed herself to the floor, kicking and screaming in cloth bonds.

" **NOOOO! NO, I WANT MY STUART!!! I WANT 'IM!!**"

Angel drew back further as the man from before bent down to hold her in place.

" I need a tranquilizer!"

The woman beside her sprang from the chair and hobbled down the hallway, calling someone on her cell phone as she went. As startled as she was, Angel couldn't help but look at her luggage– unguarded, free to take.


	9. Chapter 9 Now You Don't

**IX. …Now You Don't**

How much damage can a small, yellow note do? An empty room? A departure?

Angel thought silently, gravely to herself as she replaced the cap on the pen that she held so loosely in her hand. A stamp on her letter of registration of her short stay at Kong that what her note was. She felt ungrateful for leaving so suddenly, but at the same time the relief of being released from the bizarre studio sunk in. The lights flickered in the kitchen, as if hurrying her along. Obliging, she counted out the money she'd withdrawn for their generosity and placed it on top of the refrigerator. But when she reached down to gather up her two bags, the evening caught her attention from behind the screen of the window. The coal sky burned with a sinister orange light from the next town over, and the open window drew in hot, humid air from the urban forge. She felt as if she was floating in warm water, hesitating between leaving immediately and hanging about. But she grew closer to the window, prepared to shut it with final determination to close her life at Kong.

The minute her hands reached the swelled wood, the sky lit with radiant fire, an enormous boom echoing through the skeleton of the studio, rattling its bones until the glittering explosion subsided. Angel leaned out the window, crouching down on the counter to get a better view.

_Fireworks!_

So close that she could feel the explosion deep in her heart.

So close that it shook her violently from the idea of leaving so quickly.

Before she breeched the surface of her senses, Angel had left her suitcase on the deck and made her way down the rusted stairs, down into the landfill that surrounded the south end of the Kong property. Muggy air clung to her skin, heating her from the outside in, forcing up sleeves and pants legs as she clamored desperately to the source of the fireworks. She was in an amazed trance; why on Earth did this day call for such outlandish celebration? Her mind instinctively traveled to red, white, blue and late night with fire crackers and watermelon. But this wasn't July and this wasn't the States. Stray embers sprayed up as she drew close and peered cautiously from behind what appeared to be the wing off of an old plane.

There, in a relatively stable part of the landfill, was the source of the blazing sky nestled in a circle of sheet metal. Another rocket whistled into the indigo night and exploded in a rose-colored glory, and all it left behind was a launching stand and a hunched figure that moved about excitedly. Angel watched the show in amazement, forgetting to conceal herself, longing to join the bizarre celebration and the man who lit the explosives with sure pleasure and ferverence. She knew exactly who it was, and that he probably let her in on the fun. But the same realization that this was Murdoc kept her from stepping into the orange glow. No, the thought of him was making her heart palpitate as it only did when she laid her eyes on someone dear to her. The wash of sudden, unfounded adoration forced her instead to watch from afar and so she sat on the wing of the rusted fighter plane and watched a secret show that only two people shared.

It was a moment that Angel felt at ease and complacent, and the thought that Murdoc had created that feeling remained with her long after the fireworks died down.


	10. Chapter 10 Death Cap

**X. Death Cap**

Murdoc awoke much later than intended, not rising until an hour past noon. He knew what was occurring somewhere in Kong, and he knew it was best avoided, or at least put off as long as possible—and it finally had been. It was time to see if Angel had decided to kick up her heels and run, or if she was still sleeping on the floor in the third floor storage room. Dragging himself to the lift, he zipped up his still open fly and pulled on a dirty shirt cover with ashes.

While pouring his coffee, Murdoc muttered to 2D in that low tone he used when he was in one of his moods. 2D knew that voice, and knew it was best to keep as submissive and quiet as possible. He shifted anxiously on the countertop, answering him in short sentences and nods. But when he had finally found a good opportunity to reach into his pocket and pull out the yellow note he'd found, and he opened his mouth like he meant to speak, nothing came out. As soon as Murdoc glanced at it from the corner of his eye, the blue-haired blunder slipped the note back into his jacket.

"What's that?" he growled, shoving the coffee pot back into the machine.

"Nuthin'."

He rose to cup to his lips, searing his tongue with the drink.

"Huh? Then show me."

"…No thanks," he squeaked.

Murdoc held out his open hand, beckoning him to hand over the paper. A storm was brewing in his eyes, and 2D could sense what was coming; his spine shook.

"Give…it."

His scrawny knees joined in with the vibration of his back, his eyes preparing to puff up like blimps and his skin rearing to bruise like a ripe fruit.

"Eh, it's nufin'! 'S just a…" He stuttered, losing his last shred of confidence in black and pink. "Uh…erm…uh…"

Before Murdoc's hand could close down on the collar of his jacket, the lean man leaped over the island in the center of the room and bounded down the hall for his precious life; his predator tearing his way behind him, knocking everything off the table as he did.

"Get back 'ere you useless git! I'll make a necklace outta whatever teeth you got left!"

2D touched his jaw gingerly as his slender legs cut through the air like spears, sprinting into the stairwell with every ounce of speed he was able to muster. Fearful, he jumped from the railing to the flight of stairs a floor below, staggering as he forced himself to continue despite his aching knees; he had long ago learned to ignore running pains. Murdoc, less wiry and agile, stormed down the steps, his muscles rippling in effort and rage that he had to chase the damn kid. But by the time he reached the first floor, the door had just shut; there was no way he'd catch him, that giant…

2D glanced behind him reluctantly, not wanting to see the tomato-faced bassist hot on his heels, but suddenly realized that he no longer heard the steady thump of Cuban heels and dared to look. No one! He wasn't stupid enough to stop running, however; he'd been tricked too many times before. But there was the front door, coming up fast! Safe! Free at last! His pale fingers wrapped around the cool metal of the door handle and his shoulders lost their nervous tension. He sighed.

"Lucky—"

Murdoc's bear paw knocked him backwards, followed up mercilessly by a boot pressing dangerously hard on poor 2D's temple.

"._**NOW!**_" he huffed, leaning heavily on the man's skull.

Beaten, literally and at heart, his shaking hand withdrew the yellow note and gave it delicately to the bassist, who snatched it in return.

"Don't shoot the messenger!" 2D stammered.

When the sharp pressure left his skull, he hobbled to the door and slipped outside, leaving Murdoc alone. He snorted, leaning up against the wall.

"What a panzee," he muttered.

_'Murdoc & 2D'_ the note stared. Murdoc scoffed. _'Thank you for your hospitality and helping me get situated. I left some money in the kitchen on top of the fridge, sorry if it's not the amount you expected. If you need to reach me for some reason, I left my phone number and new address with it. Take care!_

_ -Angel'_

"Yak, yak, yak…" he groaned, tossing the crumbled not across the room. He dug his nails into his sleeve. "Whatever," he spat, shaking his head. "I'm Murdoc-goddamn-Niccals. If I can't get an album out before Noodle can, I oughta cut my own tongue off…"

The sound of his boots faded away as did the slam of the stairwell door while the dragon returned to the depths of his lair. Without another word about the girl or her sudden disappearance, he continued on his way. The note came to rest under to lobby desk, and there it gathered dust…


	11. Chapter 11 Mirrorball

**XI. Mirrorball**

2D felt his arms beginning to burn, his slender frame being relentlessly crushed by the ten tons of recording equipment he had balanced between his hip and thigh. His muscles trembled in agony with each minute that passed, in which Murdoc gave him no instruction.

"Aa-ah, M-muds…! I-it's getting' heavy!"

"Quit yer whinin'. God, yer a fucking giant and ya can't even support yer own weight. J'est give me a second."

A hypocritical statement from the man who couldn't move the audio tower in front of him. With every desperate shove, it remained stationary, mocking him silently. He gave the metal a swift kick, numbing his toes in the hard leather, screaming until his voice ran hoarse.

"Where the hell are all the assistants?! Not one helpful bastard in this group of tusspots!! Why couldn't I have gotten a bunch of able guys fer this godforsaken—"

The sound of plastic making a sickening crunch against the cement floor make him screech to a halt and turn around, just in time to see 2D lean over the broken machine he'd been holding. His mouth twitched in a strange way as the man's eyes bubbled over with fear.

"Ma-Muds! W-was an accident!"

With a quick movement, he grabbed up the young man by the front of his shirt.

"Accident, oh I'll give ya—"

"Murdoc," a firm voice commanded. "Put…him…down."

He let go, more out of frustration than obedience. His temper was more than worn out, and he was running on empty.  
During the summer, after the big rush of Demon Days had far gone, one by one, and sometimes in large groups, assistants, stage hands, accountants, grounds keepers, every single behind-the-scenes member of the beast that was the Gorillaz handed in their two weeks notice, or just never returned to the studio at all. There was no way they could go on in Kong, was what they all said; that, or they could not longer put up with Murdoc's bipolar behavior. Most of them got something thrown in their direction on their way out.

The Kong property had already been falling into decrepit disarray, but now that no one was caring for the building at all, it seemed to be returning into the soil that had borne it. Parts of the wall sunk to the floor, cracks ravaged each surface, and even in the lobby, a great chunk of the building fell off completely, causing a great draft to sweep through the studio every time a tiny breeze blew. It was overwhelming, and with Noodle now gone, things seemed unredeemable.

Murdoc rubbed the back of his neck nervously, wary of Russel's large figure moving towards him.

"Shove the smart comments, Muds. We're all under a lot of pressure here, all right?"

"Feh, not like I can't handle it. J'est like before, eh? Just us three, before Noods. Took care of us then, I'll do it now. Fuck if we need anyone else."

"That's a lie, Muds. You haven't done the taxes since…" His eyes narrowed in a glassy white glare. "Have you ever even payed the bills?"

He waved around his arms in meaningless motions, like an excited Italian, brushing off his comments.  
"I've got it under control, Lards, don't worry your chubby 'ead about it, kay?"

Russel moved forward as the bassist took the opportunity to leave, trying to keep him from wandering off.

"Murdoc, you need to finish the recording studio. If any more rains leaks in—"

"I SAID I'LL HANDLE IT, FATS!!" he bellowed, in the low voice he only used when he was on the brink of snapping.

Russel regarded him and let Murdoc leave, giving a pained look back to 2D, who was too busy trying to fit the machine back together to notice.

"Chomp, you **owe** me you ass-backwards—"

Nothing but senseless garble spilled from the receiver, only of which a few filthy words could Murdoc pick out. In disgust, he slammed the phone back down onto its holder and crossed another name on his list off with violent strokes. Damon, Billy Chopper, Jamie, Danger Mouse, and now Chomp rejected him in just the last twenty minutes. He was running out of reliable people…Each one dragged on and on about how busy they were or outright rejected him, going on to yell about his behavior before hanging up abruptly.

"Isn't there anyone I know that _isn' a selfish tosser…_"he muttered, crumbling up his latest list. His next one contained those he'd met in Mexico, and his last resort. But he was sick of talking, and instead wandered to the refrigerator, rummaging around for anything that could get him drunk enough to get through the rest of the hellish day. Nothing, of course, they'd already spent up their grocery budget for the month. He slammed the door closed so hard that the room shook, sending all the papers on top of the fridge tumbling to the floor. He didn't even give himself the chance to get angry, everything was slipping through his fingers anyway…

But one stubborn paper that stuck to his shoes sent him flying back into a fury, shaking his boot until it finally let its fiber fingers go of his sole and fluttered to the ground to join its peers. The money that fell out of it center immediately alleviated his rage. Bending down to snatch up the few bills, he stopped suddenly—American Money? What moron… Then he scooped up the note it has fallen out of.

His grimace grew into a sneer, then to a broad smirk.

"Oh, bingo, love."


	12. Chapter 12 The Price System

**CHAPTER XII: The Price System**

A scorching heat baked down on the little neighborhood of Stoke-Upon-the-Trent, keeping everyone indoors sitting two inches away from their air conditioners. Some poor citizens leaned out their windows, fanning themselves desperately with whatever was at hand. But absolutely no one dared to go outside, even to go to the pool, it was just too damn hot. Except one person, who had somehow made her way to the grocery store and back.

Angel walked as quickly as she could without killing herself, practically in a run for her apartment steps. Not that it would do much good—there was no air conditioning or fans. A used to intense heat as she was, the temperature was too oppressive even for her.

She didn't bother with unlocking the door, it was jammed anyway, swelled so badly that it didn't open unless she threw her entire weight against it. So, balancing dangerously on the balcony railing, she threw open the window and tossed her bags inside. But before she brought herself in after them, she notice that the big easy chair had been moved to face completely away from her. She narrowed her eyed—she could see someone's shoe sticking out from its edge. Her feet touched down silently and she crept around to grab the lamp off the side table.

"Ya know," the stranger said softly. It was a voice that sent a terrifies shiver down her spine. Angel let the lamp go. "You really should get that door looked at, love.

"God, Murdoc! _Don't DO THAT!!_"

His chuckled kept her from moving closer.

"Sorry, love. Couldn't resist," she said in a voice that sounded not at all apologetic. "But I'm here strictly on business."

Her heart began to settle before he'd said that, but when he moved closer, it banged wildly in her chest; he was more handsome now that he'd been gone for a couple months, and it made her nervous.

"I've got a proposition for ya," he hummed, so close now that another step would bring him against her body. He was so much more intimidating than she remembered, so much more real outside of the alternate reality of Kong Studios. "An' I want ya ta make a snap decision."

He furrowed his eyebrows and scowled suddenly, as if she'd turned into something ugly before his eyes. He dragged his sticky tongue over one finger and wiped it across her face, like a mother would.

"God, yer filthy! What the hell have ya been doin'?!"

The question startled her, but she was concentrating on the hand still absent-mindedly on her cheek. It burned her skin with such a more intense heat than that outside, it set her heart on fire.

"Uh…uhm, no hot water," she spit out.

He snarled.

"Even better reason for ya ta come back, love."

His eyes opened wide, realizing he'd just let it slip.

"Come…back? To Kong, you mean?"

"Strictly as an employee," he snapped. "Has nuthin' ta do with you personally. I've got a shortage on my hands, and yer my last resort."

Angel glanced around the room, feeling awkward.

"Hard labor, of course," he added. "No breaks."

The so-called proposition sounded more like a demand so far.

"I'll even be generous and pay ya a few pounds to get ya started."

Her eyes lit up.

"Th-that's–"

"However, at the end of the month, I expect some kind of rent; either in the form of 300£ or by another form approved by me."

"T-three hundred?" she repeated, doing the grave math in her head. That came out to about $480 a month...That meant getting a job, which meant getting a Visa. The reality of it all finally hit her, and her stomach sank.

"I take checks or cash. I also take late-night visits and gifts." He smirked self-indulgently, feasting on her expression of confliction. "Pretty good deal, I'd say."

Stay at her apartment and boil to death. Live at Kong, possibly be bitten by a rat and die. But one of the two had hot water and a toilet that flushed right.

"Option number two?"

He made a '_ffft_' sound from his pursed lips and pointed a thumb over his shoulder.

"I see."

She leaned heavily on the door frame, regretting the action immediately as she saw the paint chip off.

"Erm... I was gonna make some coffee and I picked up a couple pastries, do you...?"

"Gimmie the damn sweets."

"Very nice," she said, rolling her eyes.

As soon as she placed the box on the counter, the man snatched it and cut the thread binding it together with his razor teeth, popping open the lid. He scoffed. The aroma of chocolate swept over him in an almost sickly sweet wave.

"So... ya got money fer pasties, but not fer a betta' shack?"

Angel couldn't decide whether to respond or to glare, and ended up not looking at him all together.

"Yer seriously making coffee? It's what, fifty degrees?"

She turned and gave him and crooked scowl.

"Fifty degrees? It's gotta be ninety—"

But as soon as that came out of her mouth, she wished she had kept quiet. She stared at her, half a doughnut stuffed in his mouth and the other half hanging out stupidly; he was giving her the "you moron" stare and it made Angel flush pink and turn around. Of course, Britain didn't run by the Fierenheight system. Ninety degrees would have meant everyone was dead, burnt to a crisp…

"So... you grew up here?" she finally mumbled, running semi-clean water into the coffee pot. She was obviously trying to change the subject, but she hoped that Murdoc was vain enough to jump on an opportunity about himself, especially about his childhood.

He nodded roughly.

"I lived down on the other side," he grumbled, pointing back over his shoulder, as if Angel was supposed to know where he meant.

She nodded like she did.

Apparently she was wrong about the 'childhood' part… Letting the coffee machine warm up, she pulled up her falling sleeve and rested her hands on her bare knees, glad to have some company. As she went to work putting the rest of the groceries away, she mumbled, "Hm... that's odd that you're from here."

"How so?"

"Hn... I thought you came from... you know... a real shoot-'em-up kinda place," she finally said, laughing mutedly at her own personal joke. Murdoc didn't get it.

"Ta, luv," he hissed mockingly, smirking as he took a monstrous bite from a chocolate-filled éclair.

An awkward silence settled in and Angel concentrated on where she was going to put the pasta rather than what to say next. Not that it mattered; they both knew she was going to be leaving with him, Angel just didn't want to admit that yet… Murdoc, on the other hand, just sat contentedly, watching Angel bend over to reach the bags with immense pleasure. Oh lordy, was he killing two birds with one stone—not only was he getting, more or less, a servant, but he was getting some eye-candy to go along with it. He glanced up as he grew bored of her rear-end and saw that all the windows were thrown wide-open, no box fan, no air conditioner.

"Hey stupid, you really don't know how to keep cool, do ya? Where's all yer fans?"

Angel turned.

"Well, I wasn't exactly expecting a blazing summer day in November. It kinda caught me off guard."

His mouth twitched in a strange way that Angel couldn't quite connect to any certain feeling.

"And where are you from anyway, Yankee?"

Yankee? Who did he think he was, an eighteenth century Redcoat? She leaned against the counter, beginning to pull back her hair with a red bandana that had been carelessly stuffed in her back pocket. She was in a playful mood today.

"Give you three guesses," she said, eager to hear his response.

A smirk crept onto his face; maybe this girl would actually be more fun that she appeared to be. He stroked his unshaven chin thoughtfully.

"Please tell me California."

She mimicked the sound of a buzzer.

His eyes narrowed. She was slightly tanned, so it had to be somewhere warm…

"…Arizona?"

"Never seen a desert in my life," she hinted.

"Florida!" he exclaimed, confident in his answer.

Angel gave him a mocking thumbs-down.

"Eh, one more guess, luv?"

"Nope, figure it out yourself."

He snorted and got up from his rickety chair, suddenly impatient.

"So are you taking the offer or not? I'm a busy man, luv."

Her smile faltered.

"Give me a room."

"Done."

"A _real_ room," she demanded. "With a _bed_."

He hesitated, obviously under the impression that she'd be too desperate to ask. Apparently, living alone made her bolder.

"F-fine."

"And I want fed."

"…That's—"

"_AND_ I want to be able to use the third-floor bathroom _WITHOUT_ a bathroom buddy."

His upper lip quivered in evident anger.

"Fine!"

She sighed and ran a hand over her bandana.

"…Eugh…I… don't really have much of a choice then, do I?" She sighed again, more heavily. As much as she hated it, he was coming to her as a knight in rusting armor. "Well… how soon can I move in?"


	13. Chapter 13 Good Enough

**CHAPTER XIII: Good Enough**

There was something about the damp atmosphere, the cool breeze that penetrated the windows of the shabby apartment that made Angel hurry to turn off the dim lights and grab up her few belongings. Her spider web fingers hovered over the light switch, her thoughts traveling back and forth between staying and leaving. She couldn't stick it out for one more month here, but there had to be a better option than shacking up at Kong or going home with her tail between her legs. But, at the moment, the warm, albeit damp, innards of the rotting studio seemed like a haven, it was Murdoc she was worried about… Without pausing to let another creeping doubt enter her mind, Angel grabbed up her suitcase.

The most wonderful feeling in the world, she felt, was the cool touch of her Ramones shirt. It made her feel at home; it was her lucky charm. And as she left behind the now vaguely familiar apartment, she needed that shred of normality. In theory, the place _should_ have been a great buy—by the river, near a shopping area and a post office, one bed, one bath, but of course, nothing turned out the way it _should_ have…

It wasn't all that hard to slip into the Kong grounds without being accosted, which made Angel anxious in the worst way. She half expected Murdoc to leap out of a coffin or something and fend her back with a chair like she was a trained lion, taking back his offer and forcing her to go back to that apartment. But what bothered her more was the lack of security. She could see what he meant about the severe lack of staff. She was glad that she thought to pack her clear plastic dome umbrella as she stepped into the bone yard. The water permeated the already moist ground and the soil snatched and pulled at her sneakers, drawing her down into the shallow graves; she didn't want to know if she was stepping on rocks or bones. With every headstone that passed, she envisioned a fleshless hand reaching out to pull her into an occupied pine box to make her their bony wife. She could feel their eyes coveting her warm, beating heart and hear the cracking of their skeletons as they slid, haunted, towards the surface, like snakes to a burning sun. Worms crawled listlessly under her feet while she walked. She shuddered; she would have her body burned…

Each step brought her closer and closer to the death march that was the final stairway to the studio; a walkway that wound tight around the cliff, fifty feet upwards, stairs broken and hanging like doors on loose hinges. Angel tested every stair with half her weight, skipping from one to the other as if she had a limp. It was tiresome going all the way up, and she wondered silently how she did it the first time. Her two suitcases gained a pound with every inch she walked, and by the time she'd traveled halfway up, she had to prop herself up against the wall of a short, man-made tunnel. There had to be another path she didn't know about, because she couldn't see someone as lazy as Murdoc climbing all those stairs. But with another glance to Kong, Angel saw that the windows were still shattered and trash littered the entrance—she had her work cut out for her. She had so much work ahead of her that her body already began to ache, preparing for the labor ahead. With one final push, Angel forced her way up the hill, arriving quite out of breath at the front door.

Much to her pleasure, it was unlocked, so she simply wandered in and sat down in the first chair she found, sighing deeply.

"Welcome back."

The gravely voice that leaked from the darkness of the surrounding hallways made her muscles tense up; she'd hoped to avoid him at least for a tiny bit… But no dice, she thought, as Murdoc made his way up to her. It wasn't exactly his sudden appearance that startled her, it was how he was dressed: clad in military full-dress, hat, britches and all. She breathed out another long sigh.

"At ease, soldier," she mumbled, leaning her head back on the chair.

He ignored Angels comment and motioned for her to get up and follow him.

"Come on, I don' have forever, mendicant! Yer late!" He motioned with more enthusiasm when she took the time to crack her back before getting to her feet. "Up! I've got a leak in the kitchen, so get on it!"

Angel sighed once more, then followed him dutifully, leaving her sanity behind in Stoke-On-Trent.

He wasn't kidding when he had said "leak"; if you sealed off the room, you could have bought some fish to go in the pond that covered the floor. His parting gifts were a pail and a self-satisfied smirk.

"Heh, good luck," was all he said before disappearing back into the corridor, without as much as an explanation of what to do or why he was wearing that ridiculous outfit. Rolling up her sleeves, she bailed out the galley bucket by bucket.

Two more days passed, each one dangerously like the last. Wake up, work, eat, work, go to bed. Wake up and do it again, usually without seeing either hide or tail of her "boss". Only every so often, he'd show up and make some kind of smart ass remark, then vanish like a ghost. Not even 2D or Russel lurked about when Murdoc wasn't there, and the little girl hadn't been around since Angel had come back. She asked Murdoc once, and his response was, "Eh-heh, don't go poking your nose aroun', you might loooose it!" And he flicked her nose roughly. That was the last time she asked where anyone was. But it was getting so lonely that she was actually enjoying her work, for the most part.

The fourth day started the same as the previous three, with Angel squatting in the hallway, trying to scrape up ground-in mold from between the floor tiles when a cry made her almost drive the metal pick into her foot.

"_**AAAAAANGE'!!**_"

She hoped there was some way that if she pressed against the wall hard enough, and kept silent, that she would meld into it and become invisible.

But of course, her luck wasn't that good.

Anyone could see the violent, seething figure that was Murdoc from a mile away. He was somewhat reminiscent of a dragon, Angel thought, and expected smoke to billow from his nostrils, which were flared and twitching already.

"What the _hell_ did you do to the studio?!"

She took a few steps backward, attempting a half-hearted, innocent smile.

"Wha… Nothing, I just cleaned up... a –a little," she mumbled. But quickly, in her defense, added, "I didn't throw out anything, so don't you go—"

A hand rose up like a bear paw, ready to come slamming down on Angel's skull and rattle her brains around. She lifted her fists and narrowed her eyes, completely caught off-guard. But, much to her surprise and pleasure, the hand came down on her back instead, hard, but not in anger. He sort of… patted her, like a clumsy kid with a tiny dog.

"Heh, nice to see you finally puttin' in some initiative! A useful littl' bugger, 'at's what you are. Good with yer… hands, heh heh…" He turned to make a quick exit. "Now you can get on the studio kitchen."

Something snapped in Angel's mind as he began his classic swagger down the hallway, something that compelled her to reach out and grasp him by the shoulder.

"Wait… a second." She glanced down; Murdoc had no shoes on. She pulled him closer and a smile grew like wildfire on her face as his smirk faded. "You're short," she stated frankly.

Without his Cuban heels jacking up his height a couple inches, he wasn't all that imposing. It was funny, actually, how he was about one entire inch closer to the center of the Earth than she was. And ironic, since that was where he longed to be in the life after this. He swatted her hand away, sneering.

"And _you're_ a half-assed copy of Face-Ache, you stupid giant."

She assumed that was supposed to be a piercing insult, but couldn't shake the grin from her expression, pleased to _finally_ have the upper hand, literally.

"So you're actually what, five-seven?"

His eyes were slits of burning pink and steely black.

"…And a half," he added.

She ignored his self-comforting lie, and instead turned to go about her business, content with her tiny victory over the invulnerable Niccals.

"Oi, Cinderella. I'm not finished with you yet." He hooked his forefinger into a deadly claw, harking her back to his side. Angel hesitated. "Yer not even _half_ done. Not close."

As soon as she was within arm's reach, he snatched her by the wrist and tugged her so swiftly that it almost knocked her to her knees. He whispered in a low voice that she didn't recognize, hissing demons that carried flamed pikes into her mind, stabbing around for a weak spot. It sounded hot and evil—bubbling sulfur and brimstone, and it got Angel's attention.

"As long as ya keep up this little cocky attitude with me, baby, I'm gonna work yer hands till they bleed. And, until yer ready to treat poor old Murdoc with some respect, you're a slimy assistant, a nobody maid, and a dreary secretary."

"Now," he hummed, prying his way into her brain with those hard eyes, probing her expression, "all of those things are alluring and _sexy_ in the right light… So, are you inane, or are you something a little more…" He placed a hand delicately on her waist, smirking to show off his crooked canines, "…unexpected?"

Her face turned steely. Shocking the bass player, her hand travelled steadily up the surface of his shirt, skimming over the green skin of his collar bone. The spider-web fingers found his pendant and wrapped the golden chain around themselves. She smiled.

"Unexpected?"

A hasty yank of her wrist brought Murdoc stumbling forward, pulling him head-long out of his seductive hypnosis and into the furious face of the grey-eyed girl.

"How's this for unexpected—" The smirk jumped from his mouth to hers, reveling in the change of face, "—I'll get right to work."

She released him with a playful shove.

"I'm satisfied with exactly what I have," she said firmly, rolling up her sleeves. "And I'm not expecting more."

And, indeed, he found her late in the night scrubbing the lobby floor, which had been previously coated with a thin, stick layer of blackish sludge. Part of the room was beginning to crack, a long, thin fissure that began at one corner, ran up the ceiling, and was descending steadily down the opposite wall. But Kong was still being used, wasn't it? Still playing host to the band and the headquarters for the collaborators? There must have been reasons for Murdoc wanting the place looking tip-top, and Angel figured if the building was already falling apart, it deserved to go down with dignity—clean floors and washed windows, however many of them were left.

Murdoc's intentions were not so kind. He leaned in the doorframe, out of her sight with 2D planted behind him like a shadow. His carefully clandestine entrance didn't matter anyway; she had her headset on and couldn't have heard him come in if he plowed through the place with a whole damn brass band. She was focused on scraping the substance from the linoleum and Tom Waits whispering dark words into her head. 2D made the mistake of making a sound that sounded similar to a 'huh', earning him a stern look from Muds. The chick hadn't buckled, and that irked him. But she would, oh God he'd make her beg to get with him. A warm rush of adrenaline covered his body as he approached her silently, 2D watching sympathetically. He knew better than to get involved.

Angel reached over to dip her sponge in the metal bucket she'd managed to scrounge up in the third-floor storage room, hoping the grime would simply soak off. But a hard boot collided with the pail, sending the soapy water spilling out all over the floor and the bent-over girl. She was sopping with filthy liquid, her hair already caking up with muck. Her hands shook.

"Yer working on a deadline, hon," he spat. "Next is the studio kitchen, then the toilets." He blew a delicate, glittering smoke ring from his pursed lips, then flicked the remaining cigarette before her, stomping it out onto the semi-clean floor. "So hop to it."

Much to his sick pleasure, her hands gripped the sponge with such ferocity that he expected her to rip it in half. A tremble shot up his crooked spine—she was starting to lose it. His smile screamed of the pleasure he took from watching her crack, and he decided to rub a little salt in.

"Fine…" she muttered, kneeling back down, trying with all he might to keep her temper under control.

"By the way, I'm runnin' short on Trojans. Go pick me up some. And I'm short on cash, so I'll pay you back whenever."

Her muscles rippled in her tensing arms, her back rigid with rage and restraint. Not enough, he assumed, so he kicked some water in her face playfully. That did it.

Murdoc's feet flew out from under him, sliding easily on the slick floor as the girl clawed her way up his side and threw him onto the ground. Letting her devil-side take over, she straddled him violently, forcing his arms away from his face.

"You crazy bitch!" he yelled, huffing from having the wind knocked out of him.

2D watched in horror as the two romped bitterly in the sludge, screaming, swinging, and clawing, trying their absolute hardest to draw blood. He retreated to the hallway, unsure whether he should pull Angel off of Murdoc, or the reverse. But they continued rolling, one gaining the upper hand for a moment, before having their hair pulled or their throat grabbed, then being tossed to the floor. Angel growled fiercely, her face coated in dirt and blood, mostly hers, as she gasped wildly for breath while Murdoc crushed the life out of her. He pressed down harder and harder on her neck, shaking her. Without a thought, she grabbed him by the pendant that hung around his throat like a golden pendulum and tugged so swiftly that the chain broke, sending dozens of shimmering links flying.

He let his death grip ease, finally coming out of the enraged trance he'd fallen under. He stared down at the mess of a woman under him, wiping his hands clean on his tattered shirt. Her chest rose and fell with such rapidity that it seemed impossible for her lungs to stay intact for much longer, and blood spilled from her lip, creating a stream that trickled to her collarbone. Rising to his feet, using the wall for support since his legs had given out, Murdoc allowed her to sit up and feel at her developing bruises.

He didn't appear much better—a black eye in the making, scratches and cuts riddling his face and neck, and what looked like a fairly deep bite mark on his arm. He drew breath greedily, smearing filth out of his eyes and mouth.

"Yer… _insane,_" he panted. "What the hell were you tryin' ta do?! Kill me?"

"What's…wrong…Murdoc?" she panted, trying her hardest to wipe her face clean as she spoke. She had the feeling a dozen showers wouldn't make her feel clean again. "You…afraid of a… girl?"

"Feh," was all he muttered, turning his cheek, starting a half-limp-half-strut back down the hallway he materialized from. "Toilets, love. Then studio kitchen. And then…" He paused to take in a huge gulp of air, but managed to disguise it as dramatic pause. "…surprise me."

"What, you still think I'm working for you?" Angel exclaimed, ready to throw the metal bucket right at his head. It wasn't that far away, she could reach it before he had time to react. Just one, well-angled thump…

But he just turned, his expression one of complete sarcastic surprise, and it made Angel want to see if she could hit a running target.

"But I thought you were satisfied with exactly what you have?"

Damnit.


	14. Chapter 14 Where's North From Here?

**CHAPTER XV: "Where's North from Here?"**

The sound of heavy, hardware store plastic wrap filled the second floor, flooding the hallways with the smell of chemicals. But one terrible thing was missing—the draft. The wind that came up the center of the corridor in gusts, chilling the skeleton of Kong and everyone inside, had disappeared. Angel stood shakily on the rickety wooden stepladder while she reached to staple up the plastic wrap, hoping it would hold. That was one solution for the broken windows, but there was so much wrong with the whole place that it seemed to be only a bandage on a bullet wound. So many more problems took root in her mind that, at least for the moment, she couldn't appreciate her work. How was she to rid the main rooms of rats? How would she convince Murdoc to buy paint? How the hell do you re-wire a room without frying up a well-done American?

She wasn't a carpenter, or a maid, or an electrician. But somehow, overnight, she was to learn how to become one and avoid death in the process. With a near fatal head-first tumble out of a third-floor window already under her belt, the reality that Murdoc might literally work her to death finally sunk in. But, being as hard-headed as he, Angel kept about her labor and just tried not to think about it. It was much easier to think about the sinner's burden of trials she needed to go through before her major housework was done. At least, she finally admitted as she stapled in the last corner of plastic sheeting, she was inside and had a place to sleep. The only real problem, other than surviving Murdoc's slave labor, was earning more money than he was paying her to begin with in order to meet the rent. How in all the hells was she supposed to find a job and squeeze it in between—she glanced down at the list to double-check her next few tasks—retiling the third floor bathroom and fixing the flickering lights in the kitchen? Her citizenship papers hadn't even been put in order yet, anyway, so it wasn't like she could just run down to the corner-store and beg for a part-time job. And there wasn't really even enough in her savings to cover the whole thing. But, there was always the option of hoping for Aunt Jean to fly her back to the States…

He accepted gifts; what kind of gifts boggled her mind because that statement had been followed by "late-night visits". She had a gold chain she brought over that would now probably never be worn. Maybe that would satiate the dragon in him, maybe not. The only other valuable Angel had within her immediate possession was a pair of sterling silver earrings, but she didn't notice him wearing any jewelry save the pendant he'd swapped for the bracelet, and he already had a new one so he probably wouldn't care for women's baubles. Reaching a hand to her breast, she could feel the heavy metal under her shirt, forming an ornate Anti-Christian cross that she couldn't see, but picture clearly in her mind's eye. She'd forgotten about it when she left, and surprisingly the charm bracelet as well. In the scheme of things it wasn't exactly a priority over shelter and food. But now that she'd returned, and she was roped into rent and work, maybe he would finally return it.

But somehow, she doubted it.

She paused a moment from her work to reach down and draw it from her soft, pale yellow shirt and run her eyes over it. She knew perfectly well what it was, but couldn't help but find a kind of seductive beauty in its design and a sort of distant sympathy with its creation. After all, bound by no real human morals, the pendant itself was no more than a hunk of metal someone dug up, and pounded into shape. Angel empathized with it; she'd suddenly been mined up and molded into place. Who decided it was going to be a cross, and who decided she was going to be a makeshift assistant? Angel slid the necklace back into its fleshy safe and reached haphazardly onto her toes to finish her third job for the day.

But her mind wandered back into daydreams as the days wore on and Angel found herself listlessly scraping cracking paint from the second floor hall with a metal trowel, letting her eyes go glossy with boredom. As intriguing as Kong and its secrets were, there was no time to explore its depths and instead, she was sitting on an up-turned bucket and watching paint chips fall randomly down to the floor molding. It was fading into mid November, and the demons inside her grew restless as she thought of her impending very merry Thanksgiving. It had never really hit her that no one around here would probably realize how close it was to the date unless she told them, and somewhere between crusty chemical flakes and a steel scraper she decided that was for the best—like Murdoc would give a damn, and in fact, he would most likely torture her about food and trappings.

No, she suddenly realized, there was no Thanksgiving here in England, and she fell back into rhythmic scouring.

No one, most likely, would be about anyway with Russel leaving for his unknown devices, and 2D and Noodle disappearing, separately, for days on end. It seemed everyone was growing ancy. Even Murdoc, who never shook his picturesque vision of male confidence, grew more and more belligerent.

He'd stuck to his word and was truly running her into the ground, and as jobs piled up and her already precious hours of sleep dwindled, she'd begun to forget the most basic things. Re-grouting the bathtub in her pajamas, changing already used light bulbs to replaced dead ones, forgetting that she didn't smoke. That very same morning, she had, almost instinctively, grabbed a cigarette that was laying on the kitchen counter and went to light it before she realized it wasn't hers and that she'd never had a smoke in her life. She tossed it away angrily.

Even the endless sound of scraping couldn't cover up the sound of the clumsy footsteps that approached from the opposite end of the hall, and before Angel worked up the courage to check who it was, a hand fell upon her shoulder and tugged her back roughly.

"Hey, Ange'! Come 'ere!" a squeaky voice begged, pulling her by the arm.

She glanced up into 2D's worried eyes and found herself transfixed by two pools of black shadow. Since the first time she saw him, she wanted to touch them, just to find out if they were holes for eyes or eyes like holes. But in the way they caught the fluorescent light, she decided that they were indeed eyes. Taking her stupid stare to be some kind of stupor, he pulled her along behind him, diving quickly into the first door they passed. As soon as the door shut, Angel realized why he'd grabbed her. The steady click-clack of Cuban heels started out faint, then grew into a thunder as Murdoc made his angry way down the hall where she'd just been. 2D motioned for her to be silent as he approached the door.

"ANGE'!" he called, his voice thick with annoyance.

"He's been on a tear since 'is girlfrien' dumped 'im," 2D whispered. "Knocked me clear offa ma feet yestaday cause I used th' wrong cup." He glanced around as if someone else was listening in on them. "Don' use the black one, 'at's Muds's," he advised.

The boots stopped directly outside their hiding place and 2D's breath got caught in his scrawny neck. Angel moved up against the wall, mimicking the lanky man and stayed absolutely silent, her heart beating violently in time with his.

With a sudden burst, the double doors flew open, missing the two by a few, precious inches. Too wrapped up in his temper, Murdoc didn't bother to look around much, and left as quickly as he appeared. 2D slid to the floor, his adrenaline exhausted by all the constant scares Murdoc gave him. Angel reached the floor herself, her body still shaking from the sound of the doors slamming into the walls. That was enough excitement to last her the rest of the week. The two took their time regaining their breath, then helped on another to their feet.

"That… was the scariest thing I've seen—"

Another slam of the doors welcomed the bassist back into the room, a crazed grin on his crooked face.

"THERE you are…"

2D squealed and shoved Angel to get her a running start, taking off in another direction himself. Murdoc's face scrunched into a furious panic.

"No, no, no, no, don't make me chase both of ya!!" he growled, debating which one to pick off first.

As he lunged towards Angel, testing his luck, 2D slipped out into the hall behind him, and when he turned to look, Angel took off through another doorway.

"Gaaauuh…" he moaned, deciding with a firm pound on the swinging door to pick his fight with the girl; at least didn't have the legs of a horse.

In fact, she had the legs of a chicken. Angel slowed to a confident trot as soon as she realized that no one was running to kill her, her bare feet thudding mutedly on the newly scrubbed floor. He must have gone after 2D, she thought, allowing herself a greedy gulp of air. God, it was like living in a circus. A bang scared her into a full gallop when he burst from the room, smoke billowing from his nostrils, his mouth wide and teeth bared as he tried desperately to gasp through tar-flooded lungs. He was panting like an old dog, but he had more spring in his step than Angel ever had in her entire life.

"_Christ!! Don't you ever give up?!_" she shrieked, putting all of her energy into her thighs as he came up fast behind her.

He snatched at empty air, just inches away from grabbing a fist-full of cerulean hair and yanking her to the ground. He huffed loudly with effort.

"Stop, I jus' wanna talk, love," he demanded, not so convincingly. "Yer… yer makin' this 'ard on ol' Uncle Murdoc!!"

"Good!" she yelled back, losing ground with every breath she put into words instead of another long stride.

"Come…here!"

With one final push, he managed to grab her by the first thing he could get his hands on—her belt loops. She stopped abruptly, but Murdoc didn't, flying head over heels onto the dazed girl. With amazing turnaround, he got Angel into a submissive headlock, growling at her with more annoyance than anger in his voice. He ignored her coughs and gasps, but instead shook her slightly.

"Now…" he huffed, "You gonna calm down?!"

She gagged in reply, clawing at his arm with fury at being held in such a demeaning way.

"Not yet?"

He sat there, Angel under his grip, just staring at the wall and ignoring her cries for him to let her go. He looked like a father waiting for his kid to calm down during a temper tantrum. Until she fell slack in his lap, exhausted and frustrated, he kept his headlock tight around her neck. Murdoc glanced down, his sour mood calmed for the moment.

"Now then," he lowered himself to speak directly, quietly into her ear, "are you gonna be a good girl? If ya are, I'll give ya a sweet."

"Pfft…" was her only response, her arms folded defiantly.

Murdoc let loose his grasp around her skull, allowing her to fall out of his embrace. Sitting casually before him, Angel pushed her hair out of her eyes and glowered at him, losing patience with his games.

"Yer onto yer last clean-up job for the week, love."

Her eyes lit up with overflowing excitement; no more scraping mold or retiling? What a heaven she found in Murdoc's good humor. But she didn't expect the second part of his sentencing.

"Yer doin' the accounting."

Every blood cell in her entire body sank in her veins, losing the will to move life throughout her.

"No…" she moaned, as if he was telling her she'd have each fingernail ripped out for the rest of the week. "I'd rather tear up and re-carpet every room in this godforsaken place than work with numbers…"

"Then ya betta' get real good real fast. Take some night classes, break out yer grade school text books, I dun' care what ya gotta do, but there's a stack a bills in the kitchen with yer name on 'em." He prodded his finger against her opening lips to silence her protest, his eyes narrowing. "But first, ya gotta do one last chore… at least fer now." He snarled. "Now, even though I told ya ta do this already, I'm still findin' rats the size a pick-up trucks runnin' around my studio. That's no way to live, love. So hop to it."

"What the hell am I supposed to do? Smack them with a broom?!"

He shriveled up his eyes and drew his hands to his mouth in mock crying, dramatically interpreting her. "_What am I to do? Hit 'em with a broom? I migh' break a nail or get rat poop on my shoe! _God, quit yer whining. A few days of hard work and ya wanna free pass. I pulled lead offa church roofs when I was fifteen ta get a few bucks, so dun' go complaining ta me about a couple rats."

She gestured to him violently.

"Then why don't **you** do something about it, Indiana Jones?!"

His lip moved up in an indignant sneer.

"I'm not getting rabies, you stupid girl. Have you seen the size a those things? Beastly, 'at's what they are."

"_Exactly!!_ You want to think you're this—this… God! And you're just as scared as me!"

He scoffed.

"You _are_ stupid." Her face drained as he went to stand, stretching his arms high above his head, but his eyes never left her. "You and 2D, two halves of one fuckin' moron. Maybe if you team up with Two Dents you'll come up with something that'll end up with both a ya in the hospital. I'd be so lucky…"

She flew to her feet, losing all control of her rising anger and stomping the ground like a frustrated child.

"What in god's name did I do to make you hate me? You treat me like I'm a fucking plague! So—so what? Mommy didn't hold you enough so you hate women? What?! I'm American? What is it?!"

With a swift flick of his fingers, he dusted off his shirt carelessly.

"I just dun' like you."

Her arms fell slack at her sides. It didn't matter that she didn't like him either, it hurt all the same to hear it out of his mouth. He just decided he didn't like her?

"Then…then why did you give me a job?"

He shrugged, moving past her, lighting a cigarette.

"Yer pretty, and you were my last resort." He shook the flame on the match out. "Dun' worry, if you pulled the iron rod outta yer ass, I'm sure you'd be great company. So _what_ if yer stuck 'ere? Dun' walk around with that look on yer face like yer gonna rip my balls off."

Her lips stiffened in irritation.

"Yeah," he mumbled, "that look."


	15. Chapter 15 Fumbling Towards Ecstacy

**CHAPTER XV: Fumbling Towards Ecstasy**

_**Thunk!**_

Another one down, shut up in a box, and moved aside.

Angel couched low to the ground, her adrenaline causing her lungs to grasp air in a frenzy, her body shaking with excitement. Terrifying—each one was bigger and meaner than the last. Rats, black and giant, wriggled around the Car Park like furry snakes, slipping through the bristles of her broom and deftly slithering out of their boxes if she didn't pay enough attention. Ten containers moved with angry beasts, moving along like they were possessed. Angel shivered—there was no way she was going around smashing their skulls in or setting poison; that made her feel sick to her stomach. But now what was she supposed to do with them? Letting them out on the Kong property would just invite them back in… The only solution she could think of was driving out to some wooded place and letting them go.

Yeah, like any hell Murdoc was going to let her borrow a car to do that. He'd ask her why she wasn't pan-frying them for dinner or some ridiculous suggestion along those lines. But it was worth a sad shot.

But before Angel could find him, he found her… and the group of rats she was still trying to trap. He couldn't even get a word out before a huge one scampered out, frightened by the click of his boots from underneath a car and it ran right toward him. Startled, he snatched the broom from Angel, drawing it back like an executioner.

"No!" she cried, too squeamish to watch even a rat's brains splattered on the concrete.

Not thinking, the girl grabbed the end of the broom. She watched in slow-motion as his back twisted strangely under the unexpected weight.

"S-sweet Satan, woman!" he screamed at her, pressing a hand firmly to his spine, wincing. "I-it's a bloody _rat!!_"

She watched in stunned silence, her heart sinking in the realization that he'd hurt himself. Murdoc glanced up at the hand on the nape of his neck, not expecting to see the serene, lightly tanned face that he did. He huffed, turning away.

"You broke me!" he yelled, mockingly. "That's it! I'm done! Get me a cane! Call the retirement home! Gramps is going to the white light!!"

She chuckled, the first time in a while that she laughed at him, but didn't remove her hand.

"…I can fix that, if you want," she said hesitantly, sounding as if she doubted if she really could.

He peered up at her with playful, curious eyes.

"Hm, can't make me any worse, I guess. Why not? All the king's horses and whatnot…"

Her fists worked his olive skin like dough, pressing out kinks and tightly-wound muscles. At first, when he removed his shirt, she felt an overpowering feeling to run the other way, but the minute her fingers touched his shoulders, they magnetized to him, not leaving his skin unless they were moving to another place on his back. He made strange sounds as he lied on his front, which Angel couldn't decide whether they were sounds of pleasure or discomfort. She moved his joints gently, pressing vertebrae into their places like warped puzzle pieces being forced to fit, her hands warmed pleasantly from him, his heat sinking deep into her arms.

"Sorry…" she finally piped up, "for hurting your back."

"Feh," he dismissed, making another unidentifiable noise under his breath. "Yer doin' a good job fixin' it, anyway."

"…You still don't like me?" she suddenly asked, her heart still low from yesterday.

"You still care?" he hissed, then re-adjusted his shoulders. "At least yer not so anal today… So we'll see…"

Her fingers dragged over the crook of his spine, drawing goose bumps to the surface as she did. Her mind wandered.

"Murdoc?" she asked.

"Hm?"

Angel hesitated, then finally said, "Can…can I borrow a car?"

A dark sneer crawled over his razor teeth.

"What do you need a car for? Yer a housewifey, now," he snarled, chuckling.

"…I want to take the rats away."

She felt his body stiffen, and Angel didn't need to look at his face to see his disgusted expression.

"You _what?_" he spat.

"…I want to take the rats away. I don't want to kill them."

As he rose, her hands fell from his steaming skin, back to her cold side. His piercing stare pried into her skull by splitting her head at the eye sockets, little demons crawling into her brain through his rose gaze, and little Satans slipped into her ears with the black.

"Car costs extra," was the slimy snake that slithered into her mind through a rough comment.

She didn't reply, and so he kept his gaze locked.

"…What if you came with me?" she asked hopefully.

He made a scoffing noise out of the corner of his mouth, his ebony fringe waving tiny fingers over his eyes as he shook his head.

"What the hell kind of difference does that make?"

"So I don't steal it."

His lips remained tight.

"I know that's what you think. You think I'm going to load up a car and never come back." She didn't like the silence that settled in, so she prodded, rubbing her arms nervously. "Why is that?"

It was only then, when she looked at him with those soft grey eyes, that he averted his stare and allowed his head to hang in the opposite direction from her.

"Cuz yer the same as every other no good chick," he muttered under his breath. "I learnt that after a few times waking up handcuffed to a bed with nothin' by my boxers left. So, 'scuse me if I'm a little _edgy_ around people touching ma stuff, awrigh'?"

He couldn't go that long without making a backhanded comment, so he added, off topic, "Ya know, ya look funny for a girl."

Angel's startled expression must have woken him from his seething trance, because he moved closer towards the girl and took each of her hands in his, placing them on his tight shoulders.

"Pound out the knots in my shoulders… and… then we'll go."

Her grasp came down gentle and sympathetic to his aches, her heart floating a warm ocean of his compassion.

But suddenly, startled, Murdoc leaped to his feet, absolutely silent. Had he been a dog, his ears would have been perked up like he'd just seen a bird, but his expression wasn't excited. His mouth was turn downward, giving him a stupid, confused look. Angel went to speak, but he waves her off, taking a step backward.

"…You hear that?" he asked in a hushed tone, then glanced at her over his shoulder. "Shut that light off."

Angel did so, and gravitated to his side, awaiting the punch line of his joke. But one never came. Instead, he insisted that she listen again.

"You don't hear that?"

She tilted her head, listening as hard as she could, but nothing seemed out of the ordinary. But either Murdoc was hallucinating, or his hearing was much sharper than hers, because he backed away, turning to run back down to the car park. Frightened, she followed him closer than he would have liked. She didn't dare ask what was going on, but instead followed him into the trailer, where he was rummaging for something under his cot.

"Goddamn… Satan help me…" he seethed, his voice trembling a little. When he finally turned around to face her, he was squatting on the floor, his hands shaking as he tried to load heavy gold-colored bullets into his shotgun. She remembered that gun, and the way it was pointed in her direction made her back away, touching the metal wall for support. "Give me that case a' bullets!" he demanded, motioning towards the counter. She did as she was told, sitting nervously on the bed behind him. He tucked them away in his pocket.

"You ain't stay'n 'ere, love. Yer comin' with me."

"What?!"

He grabbed her roughly by the wrist, shouldering the gun as they sprang from the Winnebago.

"I-isn't this supposed to be the other way around?!" she yelled in a whisper. " 'No, don't follow me! It's too dangerous!' and all that?"

"Not you, yer too hard for that crap, love."

He screeched to a halt at the top of the stairs, pressing against the door. She backed up along the other side of the little window, and restrained her urge to glance out of it. Murdoc, however, couldn't and took a fleeting look out of it.

"…Nothing, let's go."

As they slammed the open, taking off down the hall like a highway, Angel tugged on his shirt.

"Shouldn't I have a gun too?"

"Feh, I wouldn't trust ya with a _knife_ let alone a gun."

He slowed down and crouched against a window pane that she'd wrapped plastic over and dug around in his boot, finally withdrawing a switch blade.

"God, you're armed to the teeth, aren't you Muds?"

He grinned despite himself.

"Never can be too careful, love. You learn that 'ere."

With one swift movement, he slit the plastic down the middle and peeked out, nose of the gun first. Angel couldn't see through the milky film, but she assumed that he found what he was looking for when he raised the scope to his eye.

"You're… you're not actually going to shoot someone?!"

"Hmph, maybe," was his indignant response as he reached for the trigger.

But all of a sudden, he lowered the weapon and stomped his boot against the concrete.

"Damn, moved behind the fucking rocks."

"What the hell are you after anyway, Muds?" she asked, starting to wonder if he was actually crazy, making this up as some kind of post-war trauma or something. He was old enough for Vietnam, she supposed, or the Gulf. But then again, she couldn't exactly see him dealing well with authority. Maybe he was just flat-out insane, then.

He gave her a wild look.

"Pirates."

Yep, he was crazy.

"Goddamnit, Murdoc!" she cried, rising to her feet, embarrassed to have been deceived. "You got me so scared I thought I was gonna piss myself, and you're here playing cops and robbers!"

His pupils shrinking into nothing, he shushed her urgently, glancing from the girl getting louder and louder to the window.

"Shut up!" he implored, but her volume only increased with her rage that he was still playing this game. She touched both hands to her temples.

"I'm so stupid! _Why_ do I go along with everything you say?! You're a liar and a—"

A tinny whistle came in through the plastic, ripping a hole in it instantly. Murdoc pulled Angel to the floor, covering her body with is absent-mindedly as he rose to return fire. She shivered under his chest, hyper-ventilating at the thought almost being shot—maybe he wasn't crazy. His body shook with each bullet he threw back at the supposed pirates, his reverse pendant tapping against her face.

"I'm sorry! I'm sorry!" she cried above the gunshots. "I believe you!"

""Yeah, I bet you do!" he yelled back. "Christ!"

He ducked in time for a bullet to whiz by his messed mop of black hair, pressing his face to Angel's. She watched him with wide eyes—he wasn't as sturdy or fearless as she'd thought, he was shaking, panting and sweating, just as scared out of his mind as her, but he had a better way of hiding it.

Encouraged, she crouched over and ran bent back towards the car park. He reached out to grab her by the ankle, but missed and fell over.

"Get back 'ere, you slippery—!"

But another series of shots occupied him, keeping him rooted to the window.

Angel's bare feet pounded like a heat against the smooth floor, her body in flight mode as she thumped down the stairs towards the trailer. If he had so many weapons on him, then there had to be a few more stashed away somewhere in his room. She checked under the bed first, shuffling past porn magazines and boxes of condoms of every color and style, hoping to stumble across another gun. A cigar box shoved against the wall seemed promising, but, surprise, only fine Cuban cigars inside. Disheartened, she tossed it aside roughly, letting the contents spill everywhere. There was a baseball bat leaned up threateningly in the corner, and she supposed that it would have to do.

She started towards the stairs, polished wood gripped tightly in her fist, but stopped when her eyes travelled to the wooden box, still moving slowly across the floor. She'd forgotten about the rats… Rats… That gave her an idea…


	16. Chapter 16 9th and Hennepin

**CHAPTER XVI: 9****th**** and Hennepin**

Murdoc didn't have the courage to move from the window, seated firmly in a standoff with his pirate friends, peering over the edge nervously. If they got inside, he was pretty much cornered. He hoped to Satan that he had enough bullets to keep them occupied. Damn girl, he thought bitterly, didn't have the balls to stick around. Good riddance, maybe she'd make a nice distraction and get her herself shot or something useful of the sort. But while he thought of this, he lost sight of the men ducking behind gravestones and mausoleums. Silence, he noticed, and stood up to stare out of the glassless portal. They were gone! Disappeared, most likely into Kong.

He shivered, and turned his tail towards the car park. If he still could, he'd make a break for it in the red Pontiac down the back road, out the secret way past the landfill. He still had a few hideouts left, and hopefully he'd be safe at least for a few months. He'd have to come and check on the Studio, see if 2D or Russel had come back, or at least clean up their bodies if they were as unlucky as him. He thought of Noodle as he ran for his life down the corridor; thought of how she'd taken off on the windmill island the four had built into some great unknown to the East, and wished he'd gone with her. It wouldn't have been hard to hide away in the cellar, and by the time she found him, it would have been too late to turn back. He could've gone with her, but he had too much pride for that, and let her go off by herself… He regretted it.

He could have.

Rounding the final corner towards his escape, the sight of Angel made his throat close up like he'd sucked in too much air.

"Where the fuck have you been you useless piece of—?!"

He stared at the wooden box in her arms.

"What the _HELL_ is that?"

She glanced down, surprised that he'd already forgotten.

"Box of rats," she said, sounding spacey.

Without lingering, he shoved past her.

"Where are you going?" she asked, jumpy.

"I'm outta 'ere! 'F you wanna stick around an' get shot at, then fine by me!"

"Wha-wait! You're not going to leave me here, are you?"

He scoffed.

"Well you seem to want ta stay, so I'm not gonna take ya."

She didn't answer, the box quivering in her hands with the anxious movements of the rodents inside.

"Don't leave me behind," she pleaded.

A pang stabbed him through what he assumed was his heart with the begging look she gave him; her usually serene eyes welled up with fear. He basically had just told her that he was leaving her in a haunted studio with murderers, he realized. With a few awkward rubs to the back of his neck, Murdoc shook his head.

"Awrigh', you can come. 'S long as ya keep quie—"

The frighteningly familiar sound of men running down the first floor hall interrupted his conditions, and without one more word, he concealed the both of them in the broom cupboard, blending in between the mops and buckets, peering out of the crack in the door. He kept one hand pressed on her chest and the other firmly on the wall. The footsteps slowed from a run to a slow trot, and revealed that there was only one person around the corner, and not the army that it sounded like. Murdoc swallowed stale spit down his drying throat.

"Okay, Ange'," he whispered, letting go of her. "I want you to…" He turned in time to see Angel hold up the box in her hands like it was some kind of sacred artifact. "…What are you gonna do with tha'?"

She nudged the door open with her bare foot, peering out at the man now talking into his cell phone, his gun leaned against his pants leg. Rolling each foot as to not be heard, she raised the box over her head, hoping the rats were nice and angry…

The crunch of flimsy wood made Murdoc's bones cringe and Angel freeze still. His arms flailed to rip the box from his head, screaming mingling with the squeals of rabid rodents, but he couldn't seem to coordinate his hands to remove it. The bassist shoved past Angel, whose hands were still extended in shock.

"It…it actually worked…?"

With his shotgun raised to his eye, he kicked the man forward.

"Beat it, miscreant! Get yer littl' turd ass outta here 'fore I pump ya full of lead."

He only managed to tear the crate from his skull once he'd made it halfway down the hall, and by that time he didn't dare look back. Angel did catch half a glance of him, though, before he turned the corner, and it made her stomach sink. His face was spurting blood like a raw piece of meat, full of deep punctures and bites, like someone had taken a knife to his head. Her heart hurt.

The smack that landed on her back made her jump, too.

"Feh, least yer good fer somthin', Ange'." He lowered the gun. "Little sadistic though, don'tchya think?"

"More sadistic than shooting him?" she asked, still feeling the bite marks on her own face in the form of phantom pain.

"Least my way's fast…most of the time…" Murdoc sauntered to the end of the corridor and peered around carelessly. "Eh, looks like they're gone…" He leaped five feet in realization. "Bet I can pick 'em off out the window!"

Angel dragged her feet behind him, her abdomen doing back flips. What kind of godforsaken place was this where, she couldn't believe she was thinking it, pirates just wandered in and decided to start a shootout with a Satanic bassist? She prayed she was dreaming and that she'd wake up in North Carolina again… Purple and navy shapes passed through the windows, reaching through the storm clouds kicked up by a wicked wind. Her face glowed with cool colors, and when she finally caught up to him, her body was bathed in a pool of azure light that off-set the green gathering in her face. He peered out of the plastic, having cut open another hole, and stomped his foot. Angel held a hand to her stomach.

"Goddamn, they're too far…" Murdoc glanced back to her. "Hey, love, you okay? You look like yer gonna—"

Forced to her knees, she got sick and threw up on the freshly-scrubbed floor, scared stiff. He recoiled, making sure that his shoes weren't compromised before kneeling down. Her body shook, fear and anxiety getting the better of her.

"Ugh, Christ you've got a weak stomach, Ange'," he muttered, placing a hand roughly on her back, the girl gasping for air and making mental pleas to her stomach.

"I'm sorry, Murdoc," she whined, embarrassed beyond all belief.

" 'S okay, love. Yer gonna be the one cleaning it up later." He tugged her roughly to her feet, throwing his gun over one shoulder and her arm over the other. "Come on, a good 'ard shot a vodka will simmer that stomach right down."


	17. Chapter 17 The War Room

**CHAPTER XVII: The War Room**

Angel found no comfort in the alcohol. If anything, it made her want to vomit more. But Murdoc, hell, the more he drank the more animated and talkative he became.

"Gah, guess you wanna know what tha' was all abou', eh?" he drawled.

She choked down part of the glass she was offered.

"Not _*hic*_, really, excuse me. I'm sure I'd regret asking."

His face fell slack, his usually narrowed eyes wide like dinner plates with two, pinpoint-sizes pupils rolling around in them. For once, he was speechless.

" 'S…'s a good story, love. Promise!"

"Will I want to leave if you tell me?"

The man coughed and glanced around the room with a particularly sheepish expression.

"Then you better not, hm?"

He leaned in, looking demonic in the soft lighting, the shotgun still hanging threateningly just off his shoulder.

"You'd rather stay in a haunted mansion on a cursed burial ground in a foreign country with no escape _not_ knowing why a band of pirates shot at yer gracious host…"

"Not if it means I'll have to shoot _you_," she replied, peering over the rim of her glass, hesitating to take another bitter sip.

The rough cackle that shook his skeleton from the torso out filled Angel up with a warm burn which smoldered in her tense heart. That laugh always calmed her nerves with some form of dark magic—it infected her senses with his confidence and made her feel at ease, whether or not it was intentional. This time was no exception.

"Yer a bizarre littl' chick under that anal attitude, ain'tchya? You've gone aroun' the bend jus' like me!" He snatched her hand off the table top and worked his calloused hands over the bones, pressing so firmly that it almost hurt. "Fer showin' me that you've got balls after all, I'll give ya tomorrow off, howsat sound?"

She knew that he was still kneading her hand, squelching veins to bone, and she liked the familiar touch.

"You've got the day off tomorrow too?" Angel asked.

"Feh, I've got every day off, love. Say the word and I'm a free man."

"Then you'll have the whole to get me a bed like you promised."

His mouth hung open on a rusty hinge, as if he had something snappy to say but he couldn't quite remember what it was.

"Y-yeah well you promised me that notebook of yours a while back, if I remember right. And you took off before I could take a peek, so…" He glanced down at the table, hoping to avoid the topic.

"Well, no one's looking at it now…"she muttered, picking up the glass before remembering the way it tasted.

He glanced up, eyes squinted.

"Whatdya mean 'no one'?"

"…You're gonna think I'm off my top…"

"I already do, so whaddya got ta lose?"  
Angel shifted uncomfortably.

"I threw it in the river…"

Another wave of hacking laughed choked up out of his scratchy throat, startling her this time.

"Back in Stoke?! You threw yer lyric book in the—HAHAHA!! That-that's everything you've written!"

"It was all crap," she admitted.

"Eh-heh, yeah well, now what'er ya gonna do?"

"Start over again. I've got a few demos I was working on, but not much else. The storage room has a whole bunch of instruments; I was hoping I could borrow some? Maybe some blank CDs too?"

His glass made a hollow thumb on the counter as he glowered at her.

"What, you want a free ride? Just cause this is a studio, ma'am, doesn't mean it's yer personal playground." He cleared his throat and stood up. "Speakin' of which, all that ruckus got in the way of my session in the recording studio, so 'f you'll 'scuse me."

"You…you mean you're just going to go about your day like nothing happened? This whole thing…it doesn't bother you?"

Murdoc scoffed and stretched out his arms to her in dramatic expression.

"Well of _course,_ stupid ragamuffin! But tha' doesn't mean I'm gonna piss in a corner and wait fer the day ta go by!"

Amazing turnaround, she thought. And suddenly, she didn't want to be alone. Angel stood up as he went to pass her, and little too quickly for he recoiled at her sudden movement.

"Can I come with you?"

"Feh, as long as you stay the hell outta my way, we're clear."

Almost out the door, he made a small grunting noise and doubled back, walking up to the counter.

"Gah, 'f yer gonna tag along I'll need some caffeine," he snarled, reaching for the full pot.

But when he was through and turned to leave, hot coffee in hand, he caught her staring at him. Not so much at him, but off in his direction, her eyes glassy and out of focus—her mind was elsewhere.

"What're you thinking abou', love?"

The sideways gaze that she gave him made his insides crawl with the sickness of anxiety.

"I miss the beach," she mumbled, her eyes half open.

"Well, no sandy shore 'ere, so suck it up."

"I miss my friends…"

"Humph, thanks," he muttered.

"…And I'm hungry," she finally admitted.

He scoffed, placing a hand on his hip like an agitated mother. There was nothing but complaints in this girl was there? About ready to take off in a huff, he heard her whisper under her breath, "And I wish you didn't hate me…"

Murdoc stood stiff for a moment, Angel averting her eyes to the floor. Taking her chin under his gnarled hand, he titled her face upwards and sealed her lips with his, pressing down gently. The nerves in her body burst into flame, live wires running through her veins while he pulled away, his lips sticking to her skin slightly. His scent of leather and cigarettes lingered.

"There!! _Happy now?!_" Returning to normal, he sneered as if he'd just stepped in something unpleasant. "God, yer a whiney littl'… Least that'll shut ya up."

"Wha…what was—?!"

"Now," he continued without allowing her to ask questions, "if yer hungry, I was gonna order out."

"B-But—?!"

"Thai good for you? I'm in the mood fer some curry myself, but whatever you wanna get's fine too. Sometimes spicy food makes ya wanna _PUKE!!_ He-heh heh…"

"But—!!"

A scaly finger rose to her mouth, silencing her.

"Listen, dun' make it a big deal, 'kay?" Her eyes swept over his flawed face that seemed to be the only thing in existence. "Now, noodles or rice?"

Her lips moved silently, but she finally spat out, "R-rice is fine."

He moved toward the phone.

"Uh, Murdoc?!"

"Hm?"

"…Can you get me duck?"

His familiar grin returned to his dark face.

"Whatever ya want, love, seeing that I've got no choice but to accept ya into my exclusive circle of trust. Otherwise," he balanced the phone on his shoulder as he dialed, "I'd hafta kill ya…"

Angel sat down, her face stricken with surprise and apprehension.

This wasn't good…


	18. Chapter 18 One Hundred Degrees

**CHAPTER XVIII: One Hundred Degrees**

"Hey."

No reply.

He shook her sleepy body a bit harder.

"Hey!"

He shoved her roughly with his boot.

"_**HEY!!**_"

"WHAT?!" she shrieked, bolt upright in just-woken fear, her heart pounding in ringing ears.

But when her eyes locked onto his half-witted face, she beat him with her pale pillow, smacking him directly in that smug expression with tired anger.

"_AUGH! Let me sleep!!_"

He snatched the pillow and tugged her forward, blowing smoke from his Lucky Lung into her open mouth.

"I'm hungry, what about you?" he asked, strangely calm.

"…Are you kidding me?"

"I can't cook; make me somethin', 'kay?"

"We just had dinner, can't you—"

Her crusty eyes glanced over at the clock, the only piece of a normal bedroom she had. Five ten in the morning.

"All right, now you _really_ gotta be kidding me," she snarled. "You're waking me up at five in the goddamn morning to go downstairs and make you something because you're too helpless to do it yourself?"

He stared at her, obtusely, squatting on the edge of her blanket.

"…Well, when you say it like that…"

Her hands twitched like she meant to strangle him.

"You—! YOU—!"

She sprang from the floor, knocking him over with such speed that he couldn't catch his breath until she'd pinned him to the ground, straddling him and ready to beat his head in.

"Get your own damn breakfast, moron!!"

"Yer rent's due today," he snarled, eyes narrowing, cigarette clenched in his teeth.

An awkward silence settled in.

"…You like eggs?"

So she set to work on a couple egg and toast sandwiches, before the sun peeked up between the grey cage bars of the city on the horizon. They perched like birds on the counter, eating their meal with unusual eagerness and peering over at the tiny TV squished on top of the fridge. He was going on and on about how the band was missing in action, how they needed to whip their lazy asses into shape and get the fuck back to Kong, but Angel was only half-listening. She made a few comments, but was still in the process of waking up to be any good conversation. She instead focused on trying to figure out where her mouth was in relation to the sandwich she almost dropped.

"…half-assed tusspot," he finished, taking such a monstrous bite from his breakfast that he began to choke, coughing roughly to dislodge the bread and egg.

Suddenly alert, she smacked his back with fervor, watching in disgust as the half-chewed thing shot from his mouth.

"Augh…I-I'm getting' too old fer that', heh heh…" he gasped.

He wiped his lips with the back of his sleeve, and caught a glimpse of Angel's half-there eyes. The labor was finally getting to her, it seemed. Finally, he thought. She had repaired half of the goddamn studio in two weeks. Not too bad of a job either, considering he had instructed her to take on jobs that required professionals. Sure, the wiring was still crap, and the tiling wasn't level in the bathroom, but Satan! Damn near everything else was brought up seven levels from the state it had been in. That made him angry in the strangest sort of way; his plan worked, it should have given him immense pleasure to watch her be driven into the ground like a plane out of fuel. But…it felt wrong. What if she had more to offer than hard labor? She would let him in her pants, so there was no way to know, he guessed.

"NO GODDMAN WAY!!!"

He sat bolt upright, Angel on her feet and livid. Her grey eyes turned steely and hard, her usually gentle lips curved up in disgust.

"NO!! Retards!!" she bellowed at the television. He glanced back—World News, running a story on US conflicts in the Middle East. She picked up a fork and threw it at the screen, which bounced off the glass uselessly. "Dumbasses!!"

Her chest heaved with rage, but when her eyes returned to the stiff bassist, his yellowed eyes wide in horror, she rounded on him too.

"Did you hear that?! Bastards! Liars!" She turned back momentarily, then back to him. "Yeah?!"

He tried to get a word out, but she had already turned her back. "I hate people! I-I—!!"

"…What the fuck's with you?" he snarled, his pleased tone of voice startling her. "Are you bipolar or somethin'?"

She froze, brought back to reality suddenly, swiftly, and glanced at him sideways.

"N-no, sorry. I…I'm just tired."

Her nerves trembled, but she managed to sit back down and look him in the face. Being tired made her too honest for her own good.

"I-I try not to bother you, so I guess you don't see me like that..."

"You what?" No way…

"I try to keep my head down, you know? Or you'll chop it right off."

He leaned in, speaking through jagged dagger teeth, his mismatched eyes narrowing.

"I like you this way, love." He shoved a coffee cup forward. "Have some caffeine, you might be more fun than I thought."

She watch him get to his feet, brushing off the grey shirt he'd been wearing for several days straight, embarrassed for lashing out at nothing like that.

"We're goin' out today, I'm sick of bein' stuck in this shithole," he growled, then turned without warning and almost shoved her out of her chair. Legs flying, she clung to the table. "Get dressed, now."

"Wha-what the—?!"

"You got any money?"

"W-well—"

"Eh, doesn' matter, wear somethin' warm, yer gonna be cold."

"What are we—?"

"Stop talkn'!" he snapped, whipping around in the doorway, "Get dressed!!" But he fell silent for a moment, rubbing his chin thoughtfully. "Eh, whatever, yer good with what ya got on, let's go now!"

His fingers seized her slender wrist—his prisoner. Angel nearly toppled over at the sudden tug and followed him down, down towards the car park.

"I-it's too early, nothing's open!!" she screamed, but he didn't care.

_She wasn't boring._

_ He could see it._

_Possibilities._

_ Opportunities._

_There was nothing else to hang onto._

_ He had to grab up this new playmate before he lost the chance._

_He'd already shoved her so far down,_

_ Not realizing that she had a personality._

_Time for a new friend, maybe _

_ So what if he didn't want her to sleep with?_

_That wasn't so weird._

_ Just a friend._

_Everyone else was gone._

_ Why not?_

He dug in his pocket and withdrew a million keys, all unattached and loose, and snatched one right away. Angel felt him push her towards an old motorcycle, nudging her with his knee to get on.

"Are you crazy? I'll freeze! I—"

Her heart stopped when she realized what he was doing—lifting up the bottom of his shirt, he tugged it right off and handed it to her, the material still steaming with his heat.

"Put it on, let's go!"

"What about you?"  
He snarled and forced the hole over her head, shoving her arms through the sleeves against her will. Then, holding her out at arm's length, Murdoc observed his work.

"You still cold?" he demanded.

Afraid that his pants were next, she shook her head vehemently.

"GOOD! You nice and toasty?!" he yelled, getting invigorated with the prospects of getting out of the damn studio.

She nodded so hard she thought her head would pop off.

"GOOOOD! Now get on!"

The monster roared under them, charging with life under his hands, and he glanced back with a glimmer of excitement she hadn't seen since…She'd never seen him so pumped up. She couldn't help feeling the same, although she had no idea what they were so happy about, but that didn't really matter. He was giving her a chance.

Not saying a word, he grabbed each of her hands and wrapped them around his scrawny ribcage. Letting herself go, she pressed a cheek to his burning shoulder and hung onto his sturdy body for dear life.

"Where are we going?" she asked over the thunder.

"I've got no fucking idea yet!" he yelled back, plunging the both of them into a dusky morning.

Her body pressed against his, Angel watched yellow leak out into the dawn sky, melting the dark away with a luminous entrance. They passed the landfill, rocketing towards the highway with reckless abandon. She fit against his body like a puzzle piece, clinging to his hips harder than necessary. It felt weird touching him, but at the same time, it felt like there was nothing more natural in the entire world. Angel wished she could say something, but every time she want to make nice, she ended up turning around and quitting before she gave herself the chance. This was _Murdoc._ Like he was interested in women besides getting tail. But…she was stuck with him anyway? What was the fault in getting maybe just a bit closer? She leaned her chin over his shoulder and had to scream into his ear to get his attention.

"So you've got no idea at all?"

"I've got a vauge plan! Dun' worry!" he called back, shivering with excitement and the cold wind that slapped against him.

"Well let's hear it!"

"You said you missed the beach, right?" he asked, turning into a sharp curve, leaning so close to the pavement that Angel felt like they were going to splatter all over the road in a bloody puree.

"Y-yeah?" He remembered?

"Well," he continued, leveling out. "There's no Malibu 'ere, but I know a place we could go!"

A beach? That was his crazy idea?

"Uh…that's…really normal for _you._"

He turned to glance back at her, a toothy smirk spreading across his face.

"Hm, the water's freezing."

"…Good to know."

"And we'll be naked."

"_**WHAT?!**_"


	19. Chapter 19 Path of Thorns

**CHAPTER XIX: Path of Thorns**

He was right about it being cold, at least. She couldn't imagine how he could stand the chilly wind against his bare skin, wrapping herself tighter in his shirt. The bike was the only one in the tiny parking lot, leaning over like it was about to collapse on itself, and she gave it one last look before they made their way down the moist wooden stairway. No sand, she observed, staring cock-eyed at the pebbles and stones that littered the shore. What the hell kind of beach was this? It was more like a giant tide pool than anything…

"Like whatchya got back 'ome?" he asked, climbing over a smoothed-down rock to get over to the point where water met stone.

"Uh, not…exactly, but close," she lied.

She missed hot sand, but settled for cold, slimy rocks that squelched under her feet. At least it was the same ocean. The same salty, damp smell hit her like a wall, enveloping her in the sea breeze like a breathing memory, invading her senses. In the dark, she could have imagined that this was Carolina, with a boardwalk and kites and docks. There were none of those here, but the steady rocking of waves was familiar, too. He was already ankle-deep in the water by the time she made it to the end of the stairs, shivering with the lapping water reaching up his pants legs.

"Hey, get out of there! You're jeans will freeze!" she called, hoping that he'd take a few steps back. She knew first-hand the discomfort of soaked clothes in the cold, but he only gave her a knowing smirk.

"There'll be plenty of time fer 'em ta dry, love."

Standing still as a carving in the rock she stood on, Angel, arms crossed to keep in the warmth of the soft grey shirt, watched in awe as he reached to pull off his pants. Her heart palpitated wildly—mostly in fear that he would be caught.

"Muds!" she shrieked in a whisper. "Don't you dare! You're gonna get us in trouble."

"Relax, love," he snarled, tossing the black jeans behind him.

She couldn't help but stare at him, his usually emerald skin tinted a deep grey from the developing storm clouds. All the yellow had been blotted back out with coming inclement weather, and casted him in a deep indigo. His gaunt figure looked a little less sickly from where she stood, his tattoos standing out as if they were glowing. There was something in that moment, so perfect and wrong, that she wished she could have taken a picture and kept it forever, that view of the Satanic bassist, looking so much more human now than ever. He paused, then glanced back at her.

"Last chance ta get in, love. You coming?" he purred, reaching for his black boxer briefs.

"You go ahead," she called, realizing that there was no stopping him. He'd jump out in shock soon enough anyway, scrambling to get dressed. "I'll stay here."

"Suit yerself," he declared with a shrug and a deft movement from his waist to the ground.

She chuckled low as he ran into the surf, a grating, shrill cry escaping him as he did. Angel bent down to crouch on the sandy-colored rocks, smiling to herself; at least he was happy. The waves reached up around his bare waist and when they hit his chest gently, he whipped around to face her.

"GODDAMN FREAKIN' CHRIST!" he called in a half scream, half laugh, "It's colder than the goddamn Antarctic!"

"Then get out!" she giggled, beckoning him to rejoin her on the shore.

"HELL NO!"

Her smile grew. What a weirdo, she thought, crossing her arms again, to torture himself like that. It was so incredibly stupid… and so incredibly invigorating. She felt lonely sitting all by herself. Rising to her feet, she cupped her hands to her mouth and called over to him.

"How many people live out here?"

"Eh? Oh, eugh, not many!"

She glanced around, feeling the numb feeling of creeping anxiety seizing her by the stomach, her teeth gnawing on her lips.

"You sure?"

Murdoc didn't answer her, either because he couldn't hear her over the waves, or because he was purposely ignoring her constant badgering. _If you're gonna do it,_ he thought to himself, _just fucking do it!_ Angel didn't know why she felt so inclined to join him, so desperate to take the same stupid chance, so inspired by his sheer idiocy. There was no way she was getting naked, but with shaking hands and hovering will, she stripped to her undergarments and sprang into the frigid water.

He turned at the sound that sounded like Angel was throwing rocks at him from the shore, but when he turned to chuck a pale shell at her, he didn't see anyone. Both arms sunk back into the icy surf, rejoining his trembling body. He glanced around wildly. She…she didn't just take off…? And as he reached for the bottom, beginning a difficult struggle to land, a warm hand snatched him by the ankle, espousing from him the most womanly scream he'd ever allowed to escape his lungs. A shower of cerulean hair burst from the ocean, followed by a very sallow face and piercing ice eyes.

"Holy—!" she stuttered, drowned out by a maniacal cackle.

"Eh-heh! Git over 'ere, love!" With an awkward stroke, he made his way over to her, narrowing his eyes. "So, ye decided ta strip?" he asked hopefully.

"Eugh," she muttered, holding her hands to her shoulders, as if it would keep her warm at all.

She rubbed her smooth hands over her arms, growing blue under the murky water—she could feel it. Each vessel cried out to reach the shore, to bask in the sun that wasn't there, to huddle up against the bike motor for warmth and never go outside again. He snatched her by the wrist, his usual pickle-green skin virtually unfazed by the frigid sea, though his touch had less warmth in it than her own.

"Ya see tha' rock face up there?" he called over the maw of the waves sweeping up. She glanced up in the direction of his free hand, and at the sight of the shore-side cliff, she pulled him closer to her side, hoping she could distract Murdoc from the obvious plan being cranked out in that rusty mind of his. "I wouldn' die from a jump like 'at, righ'?"

Angel spat out the sea water lapping into her open mouth.

"Yeah…yeah, you could die."

That was true. She'd seen and done her fair share of cliff dives, enough times to know that a broken neck wasn't the worst that could happen. She was lucky to get away with a fractured leg that last time she jumped. He didn't seem convinced.

"But," she sighed, hoping he was selfish enough to let self-preservation kick in as she added, "if you want to break something, you go right ahead."

Apparently, his drive to perform mindless stunts dominated over his love for himself, and he made a mad (what would have been on land) dash to the rocky seaside. Before her slowing, chilled min got a grip over her equally slow body, something Russel had said in passing rattled around in her skull—"he hates everyone and himself equally". Made sense now.

As fast a swimmer as she was, Angel only managed to catch up with him when he was already on his way to the cliff, very naked and immersed in a giggle fit. It felt like she had blinders on. She didn't care that he was totally bare, she didn't care that people might see them, she only concentrated on catching him around the stomach and bringing him down before he could even get close to a watery death. His squirming, heating body wiggled under her grip, startled and angry that she'd spoiled his fun. She pulled damp hair out of her lightly tanned face.

"Get a GRIP, Muds! If you don't know what you're doing, I'll be scraping you off the rocks at the bottom!" she yelled, pressing her knees forcefully into his back, hoping she got the point across, not thinking that they were still on hard stones.

"Augh, git 'ff, Ange'!" he yelped through the sand and gravel, reaching back to snatch her shoulder.

With a strong, smooth movement, he straddled her, pinning her arms to the ground and hovering so close to her face that she could feel his tongue move as he whispered to her.

"Dun' _ever_ grab meh from behind unless it's followed by a good time, toots," he snarled, but it lost the dramatic impact that was intended when the wind chilled him through and made him sit up, still perched on her hips. Her horrified face confused him—she looked as if she were dying. "What the 'ell is wrong with you?"

"Y-you're _touching me!"_

Startled, Murdoc glanced down, making half a grunt at the realization. Before anything got tense, quite literally, Angel slid out from under him, wiping her stomach off with zeal, hoping that the haunting, sick warm feeling where he had been would wear off. Turning away, Angel tried to push the thought out of her mind, occupying her hands by combing through her hair with shaking fingertips. God, she was so cold.

His rough, calloused hand left a trail of electric nerves as it slid over her neck, fingers curling around hers and pulled her back to their master, calling her with silent words. His eyes softened, losing their gem-like edge that threatened to cut her every time she got near.

"Come 'ere," he muttered, bringing her back to him with a swift tug, drawing her to his lounging body, lifting her on top of him. "Yer warm," he mumbled, wrapping an arm around her waist.

His head tilting in confusion, he reached up to her neck and grabbed the pendant swinging loosely from her collar bone, bringing it close to his face. The beach went from cold to freezing when she realized she hadn't taken off the anti-cross he'd given her. He had never seen her wear it, her having the sense to keep it tucked away under her shirt, out of sight, out of mind. But he didn't look angry or disgusted like she expected. Through squinted eyes, she saw him let go of the necklace and with delicate pressure, he squeezed her hips tighter.

A surge of hot water shot through her at his touch, her senses shutting down form anything that wasn't him. He made her feel like she was having a heart attack, he terrified her with a looming kiss. Inches from her lips, he reached to stroke her thigh. Her overloaded nerves sent her reeling to her feet and she tore down the beach, leaving him lying down on the shore, anxious and cold.

He didn't come after her.

She wasn't surprised in the slightest; after all, who was she kidding? He only gave a damn about her because she was the only one left. With his band mates seemingly on unending leave, he gravitated towards her more and more daily. It wasn't because she was interesting; it was because she was _breathing_. Being female probably helped too.

Angel, playing hypocrite, managed to clamor halfway up the cliff face, and coming to rest on a groove in the stone, she pulled the soft grey shirt back on, feeling the wind blow right through her, as if her body didn't exist at all. That was _his_ shirt. She wished she could jump into the water and pop out in South Carolina. God she missed that place; nothing could fill the void of home, not even Kong, not even Murdoc… She tossed her head in frustration. _Murdoc_, she spat in her mind, trying to think the most evil, ghoulish thoughts of that man she could muster, but all she could see was that hazed face of his peering up at her, pink and ebony piercing into her heart.

She knew she was stupid. _Stupid, stupid, STUPID!_

It was the worst possible feeling she could harbor for him—lust, hatred, _anything_ would be better than what shook her soul with that image. Her hands fell into her lap.

What an _idiot_.

He was beside the bike when she'd composed herself enough to return to the beach. He was dressed, his bare chest still soaked with salt water, but he didn't look furious or even remotely disgruntled by her instant rejection. When he heard her coming, Murdoc turned and smirked.

"You too embarrassed to mess around in public, eh?" he bluffed, and they both knew he was lying. He didn't seem to care, and instead shrugged and added, "Fine wit me; sex on the beach always gets sand in all my crevices." He nodded at the bike. "Let's go, then."

"Go?" she repeated.

He reached into his pocket for a smoke, looking genuinely confused.

"Figured you'd had enough," he grumbled. "Unless ya wanna try again?"

Despite herself, despite her terror and burning mind, she didn't want to go yet. She didn't want to ruin the day that was so quickly turning into complication.

"No, I don't want to go home yet," she asserted, placing a hand on the black leather seat of the bike. "I…I miss being around people," she said, sounding as if that wasn't really what was meant to come out. He humored her anyway, snickering through the Lucky Lung.

"I was hoping you'd say 'at, love." He flicked a pile of ashes onto the pavement.


	20. Chapter 20 Rain Dogs

**Chapter XX- Rain Dogs**

The rocky crag they perched on felt even less stable than it looked, thin pieces of shale under their bare feet scattering head-long into the sea. Angel swallowed her hesitation—she'd done worse, but God, this looked bad… Murdoc gave her a heavy slap on the back, clutching onto her shoulder with his claws. There was something feral in his smirk, but nervous at the same time. He licked his salty lips greedily.

"Verdict?" he snapped, leaning so far over that all it would take to push him would be a freak gust of wind.

Angel faltered.

"Doesn't look too good...Can't tell if there's rocks just under the surface—water's too foggy." She shook her head, backing away. "No, especially for a first-timer—"

He cut her off with an indignant scoff, thrusting a long, scraggly finger in her face.

"Youuuu are a right moron 'f ya think I 'aven't done stupider an' lived. 'Ow 'bout you then, eh? You can make 'at jump, can'tchya?"

"_I_ can, but then again I've only lived beachside my entire life and have done this a couple hundred times." This time, it was Angel prodding a forefinger into his startled face. "And _you'd_ better be full and ready to be paralyzed and sucking all your meals through a straw if this goes wrong, got it, smartass?" She cut off an incoming angry tirade. "And whatever I tell you to do, you better goddamn do it. I tell you it's too dangerous, you'd better sit your ass down, or I swear to good God in heaven, I will tip your trailer over."

His stare was shocked and vacant—she was dead serious. He could see past her, like he had always had the power to do, and pierced right through her and saw the worry in her eyes. He tried to brush it off—it rattled him deep into his bones, that expression of disguised kindness. Angel felt it her job, now, to keep his body intact during this ordeal, and anger was the only way that she could gain his full attention. He stared out over the rocky face, and vertigo hit him like a brick wall, forcing his knees into a fierce tremble. He snickered mutedly.

"So, Ange', get on with it so I can take my turn, awrigh'? Hup-to!" Her body shuddered in the breeze, her skin crawling under the soft, grey material. It had been a while since her last jump, which hadn't ended very well. There was a huge chance that this one would end with her splattered across the rocks like a water balloon, but her body moved on its own, perching on the very edge of the cliff, teetering side-to-side. It was a long way down.

She stripped down to her underwear, embarrassed she'd worn red, and rubbed the goose bumps from her arms. She wondered if she lingered long enough if he would get impatient and push her off. She caught herself from a surprised leap from the bluff at his warm touch, his fingernails grazing her soft spine, leaving white trails of scratch marks on her skin.

"What are yer orders, Capt'n?" he whispered in a gravelly moan, breathing hot air into her ear, which made her neck buckle.

"Auugh… You…You wait until I pop back up and tell you it's safe."

She motioned for him to stand beside her and stretched out her arms as if she were spreading her wings, poised to take off, her muscles lean and defined with graceful sinew. He looked awkward next to her, and he felt it.

"Hold your arms out, and when you go in for a jump, you can go hands first or feet first." She let her gaze travel down his bare legs. "You should probably go feet first. Now—"

She brought her legs straight together like a board. Murdoc gazed longingly at her bronzed skin, fighting the urge to grab her with the urge to fight back a wave of nervous vomit from the imminent long journey that awaited him from stone to ocean. He absent-mindedly stood to attention, mimicking her posture.

"—And when you jump," she continued, meeting his mismatched eyes with her focused grey ones, "make sure your arms and legs stay straight. They'll absorb the force of impact, all right? If you flail around like a baby chick, you're gonna break something."

He stiffened up, looking down at the lapping waves. He'd done worse, he would knock this one out of the park, no problem.

"Now, when you hit the water, make sure you blow air out your nose, or you'll drown and I'll have to save you."

"God, yer a cold fish, ain'tchya? So encouragin'…"

She ignored his muttering, stretching her calves by balancing on her toes, a ballerina ready to take a plummeting Plié. The curve of her body was enticing, and it took such an effort for Murdoc to look away that he made a low grunt, catching Angel's attention. She turned her head to the side.

"Make sure you swim up right away, okay?" she asked, her firm voice digressing into a gentle tone. His eye opened wide, absorbing the soft demand with a salivating desire. She was concerned for his safety—he was winning.

" Kay," he muttered.

"All right." Angel turned back to the yawning ocean, meeting its lazy stare with a creeping smile. "Let's go."

She sprang from the rock, arms stretched out as if she was reaching out to snatch a piece of the stormy sky, and she seemed to hover in the cool air a moment before rocketing down the rock face. He watched her flip, head-over-tail in two deft somersaults, her azure hair fluttering, leaving him in awe. One slip meant death. The sound of her hitting the water was perfect, the waves giving way to her entrance obediently, welcoming her back to the dark ocean she'd been born from.

He waited eagerly, waited impatiently for her head to breech the surface. He wanted that. He wanted the adrenaline, the feeling of air rushing over him. He _wanted_ it.

But she couldn't bring herself to come back to the land of air. She let herself float in the misty black, her eyes closed in the repose of sleep, her body limp and peaceful, floating in the womb of her mother, feeling her temperature fall to match the water. Her hair drifted, snaked over her face, cerulean sea weed in a vacant ocean—she was home. She cracked open her eyes, the salt stinging sweetly as she tried to look around. Nothing, not even a shred of light peeking through the storm clouds into her murky home. She was alone, perfectly, safely, alone. Her breath caught in her chest, beginning its last handful of seconds that she could be secluded in her paradise—two minutes was her limit.

She burst to the surface, her mouth open and breathing in desperately. She glanced up at the sound of Murdoc hooting wildly, her eyes clearing out the salt from her lenses.

"Hoo-hooo! Awirte, my turn, eh?" he called, already far too eager to jump.

Angel glanced around, not seeing anything that would endanger him, and felt along the water with her feet, not touching any rocks.

"It looks all right," she reported back, "be careful, though."

She watched like a mother watching her little boy on the play ground, resisting the urge to reach out her arms to catch him. She smiled warmly, he could pull it off. But with a tiny touch, her stomach dropped to the bottom of the sea. Rocks. Somehow, by some miraculous chance, she'd missed them on the way down, but Murdoc… Her heart stopped.

"Murdoc!"

But his feet had already left the cliff side.

_IllusionEyes: I have never cliff dived, nor do I recommend you to go cliff diving off of beachside bluffs like this. I hate to sound cliché, but Angel is a professional! She, as a character, has been doing this since she was a young teenager, this does not mean that YOU can do this! Please don't try it and tell the surgeon that IllusionEyes told you it was safe. Thank you._


	21. Chapter 21 Cup of Gold

**Chapter XXI: A Cup of Gold**

Her heart felt like stone in her stomach; his body plunged into the water with a ripple that swept over her head like a storm. She refused to stay under, fought her way to the surface with claws and temper and forced her way over to the shaking water where he'd dove in. Everything was deadly quiet. So silent and white and cold—she shivered. Desperate, she went head over heels into the sea, eyes open wide in the burning salt to find him. But it was murky and dark; she couldn't have found Murdoc unless he was right in front of her. Her breath escaped in a stream of bubbles, and she let her body go limp—was she too—?

She shrieked, muted in the water, trying frantically to kick the grasp on her ankle loose. She flopped around like a suffocating fish as the creature wound it slimy way around her torso, its legs locked tight around her waist and climbing further, further up her body. Water poured in through her nose as she trashed, body taught and panicked. But a familiar hand that reached out to snatch her shoulder turned panic to placidity, a claw that stroked her cheeks and pressed their sharp edges against her neck, crawling into a vice grip. Angel let the man latch onto her back like a crab, letting realization wash over her. They floated in the darkness momentarily, silent and cold, and for a moment, Angel wondered if they had hit the rocks, if they were dead together in this dark heaven. Only the current moved them, together, as if they were one creature. Angel let her mind wander back to something she'd read once—a philosopher long time dead and gone that she couldn't remember the name of—that humans, before they are born, have four arms, four legs, two hearts, and one mind, separated at birth into two humans. He said that you spend a lifetime driven by a pull to re-fuse oneself with their other half, to be whole again. She wondered, here in this womb, if they were one, combined back together in death.

But he jostled her suddenly, drawing her out of her trance, broke the bond that she's been mesmerized by. Agitated that his surprise was ruined, Murdoc kicked and brought them both to the surface, spitting out mouthful of salt water. He turned to spit out a smart remark, but she thrust him back under the water with a burning anger, remembering her worry and terror before he'd put her under his gentle spell, letting the pain of anticipating flood back into her body.

"Don't you do that! Don't ever do that to me again!" she shrieked, him only hearing every other word, but he got the gist of it. He struggled to break free of her tirade, but what was he do? His hands slipped off every time he tried to gain a grip on her hands, and with no ground below him, he couldn't fight back. The power of his body was stunted with the equality of water. He swore with every breath he managed to gobble up before being plunged back under, screaming and carrying on as she punished him, a tear bubbling up and drying up at the corner of her eye.

"F-fine! Leggo a' me!" he spat, lips drawn back over his razor teeth like a dog in a sneer that burned Angel when she managed to let him go. Her feace was beet red with anger, eyes narrowed, but somehow, they were still soft and pleading. He felt along his sore neck, as if he expected it to be bleeding. "What's wrong wit' ya? Ya coulda killed me!"

He lost the rest of his sentence in a cold embrace like a fish, Angel's hair rubbing against his rough cheek, her wet face buried between his jaw and shoulder. Stunned, he floated aimlessly in the rhythm of the waves, unable to move out of her grasp.

"Luv," he squeaked, eyes opening and closing in strain, "Nice ta see ya shown' more emotion than a rock, but yer—yer gonna crush meh…!"

She shied away, swimming back, feeling her anger slip away gradually letting go of her worry. He was alive, solid and breathing in front of her, but before she could apologize for the outburst, realization hit her like a train—she was done for, that had been the last shred of hope she'd been hanging onto, and now it was too late. Now it was obvious. He would be a fool not to know now, and he wasn't. But instead of gloating and taking advantage of her vulnerability, he turned heel over head into the surf, disappearing in the murky water. She stared after him, feeling her body turn tense, but she had to let go, she had to relax and play like nothing had happen, or she didn't know what he would do. He bobbed back up to the surface, looking confused.

"What, yer gonna waste all yer time 'ere floatin' around? If this is how yer gonna be, I'll never bring ya back 'ere again." She looked hurt, but at least it snapped her out of her trace. "Now, if ya's like t ago back on land and try again—"

But before he could finish his bargain, she flipped over backwards head-long into the ocean. Murdoc sneered, quiet, his eyes drawn hard into a narrow glare—keeping her attention was like trying to grab hold wet soap, and it vexed him in the worst way. Everyone hung on the words that came out of his star-studded mouth, and she…she could care less sometimes what he had to say, only listening when she felt so inclined. It pissed him off. Who did she think she was?

He snatched her when she popped back up, startling her, and pulled her close, whispering low.

"Hey, I wasn't _finished_ yet, brat."

Angel's body went rigid. His words stung, but they didn't hurt her as much as they should have. His arms moved up and locked around her neck.

"I was about to offer you a great proposition, but since yer so brash, yer just gonna get a demand." He leaned in further, his slimy tongue brushing against her ear lobe as he spoke, turning her to an oozing mess in his grip. She screamed inside for him to do it again, waiting eagerly for his next words. "…The taxes are waitin' for ya on the kitchen table when we get back. _And_ my laundry's been piling up. Hope ya have fun now, while you've still got time left."

Her body went slack. He…he was the devil in human form.


	22. Chapter 22 Giving Back

**Chapter XXII: Giving Back**

Angel rubbed her tender head, staring down at the forms from hell. It was harsh—had she known _anything _about UK tax forms or Kong's finances, she could have had them done in no time at all, but this… this made her skull pound. All these expenses! Receipts were kept in no order, and some were stained and ripped in the most important parts. Income was sporadic and sky-high at points, and then almost nothing at others. It was so difficult to follow. It was obvious that Murdoc had just gathered up whatever looked important and just thrown them together in a box. And what were half of these purchases anyway? Fourteen hundred pounds for a breast augmentation? She didn't even want to know why Murdoc had that in records. And not only were there credit card bills under every bank name imaginable, but there was also the electricity bill, which couldn't have possibly been higher, water bills, heating bills, cooling bills, gas… the papers swelled up and up like a mountain in front of her, and it felt like a nightmare—no matter how many she filled out, the pile seemed to get no smaller.

Murdoc's constant hovering didn't make things any easier in the slightest, either. He complained about her handwriting, how she made her 'sevens' and 'zeros'. He breathed down her neck and shouted out random numbers while she added up decimals on a century-old adding machine so that she'd have to rip out the tape and start over again. He even spilled water all over an envelope of receipts, but that at least was on accident. However, that was the last straw, and she chased him out of the room with the largest wooden spoon she could dig up out of the drawers. Angel sat in her chair, blissfully alone. The kitchen door had a chain lock, for whatever reason, she didn't know, but she was happier than a clam that it was there. She locked it up tight and smiled sadistically to herself each time Murdoc would yell at her from the crack and struggled to get his arm through to get the door open. He gave up after a while, but Angel figured that he'd gone to get a hammer and doubled her pace.

The storm hadn't cleared up from earlier that morning, and kept the sky dark and gloomy while she worked. Her thoughts repeatedly returned to their trip and his touch and his skin… But she blocked them fiercely with numbers and figures and refused her mind the satisfaction of torturing her with her own stupidity. Murdoc was well aware now, she was sure of it. But maybe if she just stayed in mommy-mode, it would go away like everything did. She was safe in her home skills, and it kept things from being too real. And if had it made her Father, her dear buried Father, forget for just a little bit that he no longer had a wife to take care of him, maybe Murdoc would forget her with time and care. He was at the door again, speak of the devil, with a pair of wire-cutters, trying with all his strength to cut the chain off. It was a useless effort.

"You'd better let me in, twat! Or you'll be sleeping out on the damn lawn tonight!"

She didn't pay attention; she was absorbed with seven-hundred-twenty-four minus eighty-seven. She was nervous about what was going to happen when he found a way in, and he _would_ find a way, but pretended not to care about his threats.

"Unless you want me overpaying all these bills, quit yelling!"

He fell silent, and Angel glanced over to look at him, stunned that it worked. But he didn't look subdued, he looked even angrier than before.

"What, you think yer in charge 'ere?" he spat, looking disgusted. "Yer _nuthin'!_"

"Well if I'm _nothing_," she snapped, rounding on him, "then why am I responsible for your house and finances and food? Hm? You want these to go unpaid? You want to make your own dinner? Hm?"

He just stared at her, gob-smacked. She got up, face drawn and hard.

"Then you'd better treat me more like an employee and less like your personal slave!"

And with that, she slammed the door in his face and walked back to the table feeling both triumphant and sick. Why did she have to yell at him so often? Then again, why was he such a bastard?

"Well, from yer attitude this morn' I though' you'd _like_ bein' my personal slave!" he called through the wood.

She stopped cold, eyes wide.

"What are you talking about?" she replied, trying to brush him off.

"…Humph, never mind then…"

She scooted the chair back to sit.

"Go away! Don't you have anything else to do?"

"Unlike you, 'm a free man. Yer stuck wit' me until ya just can't take it anymore and walk outta here wit yer tail between yer legs!" he cackled.

"Auuughhh," she groaned, leaning her aching head on the tabletop. He kept jeering at her from behind the door.

" 'F ya really think yer goin' unpunished for lockin' me outta my own kitchen, yer even stupider than ya look! An' by the way, ya shouldn' be yellin' and carrying on to someone who traded yer month's rent for a meal! I should kick ya out onto the curb like the vagabond ya are! And when are ya gonna get a job ta pay me next month's rent? Oh, I just remembered! I'm outta cigarettes again! I like Lucky Lungs, kay? Think of it as part of yer payment. An' don't you smoke any! Oh, and pick up some shoe shine while yer out, my Cubans are lookin' dingy. You can clean 'em up too, can'tchya?"

Angel plugged her ears. She knew he was just trying to get into her head, trying to drive her up the wall, and god was he good at it. He wanted to coax out another outburst, wanted to rub her temper in her usually patient face, and she couldn't let herself fly off the handle again. Quietly, the poor girl considered taking up smoking—she would have cut off some fingers for a few minutes of peace.

But suddenly, she noticed he was gone. Angel stood up and walked over to the door, pressing an ear to it. He _was_ gone. Even when she undid the lock and glanced out into the corridor, he still didn't appear. Even when she walked the length of the hall and back he didn't leap out of a doorway and assault her with some instrument of torture like she expected him to.

Kong felt empty.

She pulled at the hem of her pale shirt nervously—she was always alone if Murdoc wasn't there…No one even rang the doorbell… at least that would give her something to do that wasn't hard labor or give her someone to talk to that wasn't completely out of their heads. She wanted company; she wanted that same bastard to stay around longer than an hour...

How pathetic, she thought, that she was only happy now when he was around, pushing her, setting her on fire with insults and the touch of his skin. Abusive, and so kind at the same time. Sure, she was working for the ass, but he could have very well hired someone from a firm, she knew—she'd seen his finances—but he offered her a home when she needed it…Surely he wasn't as rotten to the core as he acted sometimes. But he'd…he'd never accept her. He was _him_ and she was _her_ and there was a line she knew he wouldn't cross, a line no man like him would cross. Angel narrowed her eyes. But…maybe if she worked hard enough, he'd like her just a little…and maybe that would be enough for her…Just… not to hate her…To have him be able to be with her like that morning…

Energy flowed through her nerves. She needed a job! A job that wouldn't question whether or not she was a citizen, which she felt horrible for. Then she could pay his rent, then maybe buy an instrument—a _good_ one—maybe he'd let her use the studio… Maybe he wouldn't mind her sticking around.

Maybe…

She waited all night long in her only pajamas she brought over the ocean with her, and sat at the kitchen table in black and red flannel. She looked like a lumberjack, she though tiredly to herself, staring at the clock as the hours wore on. He was never coming home, was he? Angel rested her head on the table, just for a second, and with the sound of rain steadily falling on the patio outside, she drifted off to sleep.

Murdoc tore off his damp clothes the entire walk to the lift, starting with his soaked jacket and finishing with his drenched jeans, leaving nothing but his black underwear. He shook out his hair—Angel had better have done a fan-fucking-tastic job patching the roof or she was sleeping out the storm the rest of the night. He stumbled to the kitchen, weak and bruised from his latest session in the back of his Pontiac. He needed a roomier car or less rough girls…

Rubbing his tender hip, he closed the door behind him and turned, and immediately jumped ten feet at the sight of someone in the room with him. God damn, it was only _her…_ He circled around the girl, snickering at her sleeping clothes—you couldn't get more Yankee than that unless she wrapped herself in star and stripes. Wiping his wet face dry, he glanced over at the counter. Two plates. His eyes narrowed—she actually managed to scrape something together from the trash in their fridge. He touched the tomato-clad meat; cold as hell, but that was probably his fault. Whatever, it was food wasn't it? And he didn't have to order it or make it, so it was great already. He snatched up a plate in one hand and a dirty fork with another, wiping it clean on the side of his briefs. The bassist turned to return to his cave, to slink back into the shadows of Kong to his cold trailer, but stopped when he caught something out of the corner of his eye. Shoving a forkful of cold chicken into his jaws, he leaned over the sleeping girl and swatted her still hand away from the note underneath. He stopped chewing momentarily—the name of some company, circled in red with a number and time under it. She…was looking for a job. He set the plate down, suddenly disinterested, and cleaned off his hand on his chest before picking up the note paper. If she got a job…she wasn't going to be working on Kong anymore…and that meant that he would be officially, completely, and utterly alone…and that wasn't an option. He tore the paper into tiny pieces and crushed them in his palm. Sure, maybe that meant she wouldn't be able to pay the rent, but whatever. He was rich; he didn't need her pittance every month. But what would happen if he just let her have a free ride. No…he'd keep her in the red, keep her in debt, keep her put. He snatched up the plate again, quiet and grave, and threw out the shredded note in the trash, leaving her asleep on the table.

He wished she wasn't so anal—he could have given her a better place to rest her head…But that…that was next on his list.


	23. Chapter 23 Secret Griefs of Men

** Chapter XXIII: Secret Griefs of Wild and Unknown Men**

The rumble and clang of thunder and lightning marrying in the sky outside woke Angel early in the morning. Her head perked up like a rabbit in the brush and immediately she rose to her feet. The window came into focus—the sky was pitch black and laced with purple clouds that ripped open the earth with harsh rain. She rubbed her crusted-over eyes; Murdoc was home, a plate was missing. She sat back down, spine bent and worn, aching from being slumped over for her two hour nap. Kong was quiet except for the pounding, indiscernible music of the pounding water, like usual, and eerily cold, which was never out of the ordinary.

She wished, rubbing her arms, that she had packed more clothes. All that was left was a couple long-sleeved shirts and a brown leather jacket—not even indoor boots or slippers. Galoshes, now that was something she wished she'd brought. In fact, there were many thing that seemed stupid to have left behind now. She was stuck with a few pairs of clothes, a credit card, and an mp3 player she'd bought a week before leaving. Not like it was of any use, though, she'd forgotten to bring the charger. There was her guitar, which she'd given to her Aunt's daughter for the time being and considered gone, her CD's, all of her games, but what she missed the most was her bed. Gentle white sheets and a firm mattress—she'd have killed for that. As comfortable as the floor in the storage room _was_, it was causing her great pain, and Murdoc seemed to have no intention of remedying that situation anytime soon.

Her ears perked up—something was wrong. A banging noise, breaking the steady rhythm of the thunder and the rain came muffled through the floor from the hallway below. It was probably Murdoc, she thought, trying to calm her nerves, it was _definitely _Murdoc. Just slinking around like the creep he was, sleepwalking or going out for some tail and a beer, no big deal. Not at all. Not… at… Well, maybe she should look anyway, she wondered. Angel grabbed up the gristly frying pan from the ramshackle stove before slipping out the door, listening with adrenaline in her veins. It wasn't like Kong was an unknown place—just because no one had broken in before she was there didn't mean it couldn't happen. Hell, if she was able to sneak into the studio, that probably meant anyone with half a brain could too, right?

Her heart wouldn't slow down in her panicked chest, and she was starting to get afraid that whoever was sneaking around was going to hear it. She pressed a hand to the groove in her neck; the pulse under the skin was wild. She jiggled the doorknob at the bottom of the stairwell, glancing behind her from where she'd just come before walking barefooted out into the corridor. The sound was gone, and that enough coupled with the fact that she didn't see anyone made her want to turn and run back to the comfy floor of her room. But Angel gripped the pan tighter—if it _was_ Murdoc, then she could tell him that she might have a shot at an office job working with (she shuddered) taxes. She managed a half-smile—maybe he'd give her another chance if she had money, but then again he was rolling in money, wasn't he?

There it was—! That noise again! Someone was kicking open doors, letting them slam against the wall as they burst open. If it was Murdoc, then had significantly less to worry about than if it wasn't, but somehow she couldn't see him smashing his way through his own home. Pressed against the wall just before the corner of where the hallway took a sharp left, Angel meshed her body in with the plaster and held her hurried weapon tight in each fist, too scared to look. But she had to, didn't she? That's what she'd come down there for in the first place.

Angel tested her courage with a fleeting glance around the corner, too quick even to see clearly in the dark before returning to her hiding place. Okay, she breathed deeply. Reaching into her stomach for some kind of power to drive her to her death, she again looked into the adjacent hallway. And there he was. He looked almost exactly the last one, dressed nondescriptly with an automatic in one hand and a two-way radio in the other. He was talking into it, in English she assumed, but it was so garbled it could have been Chinese for all she knew. Her breath got caught in her throat like she's been gagged, and as she stood there, just short of puking again, she realized that—that wasn't exactly a safe bet if she was caught. She had a better chance of dying than being tied up like a damsel in a movie. An automatic…that wasn't something you brought to a negotiation, that's something that's brought to an _execution_… Her heart stopped. They certainly weren't there for her…Murdoc.

She tip-toed in a sprint down the hall, trying her best not to let the pan fly out of her hand in a mad dash to the Car Park's door, which she opened so gingerly that it didn't make a sound as she slipped inside. He was down there, she knew it, she could hear the wild beat of dark rock music leaking out from the trailer, and a dim light was shining out from behind the flag in his back window. She sighed again, setting down the cooking instrument before turning her attention away from the bassist—he was safe at least, but that didn't mean that Mr. Rough-and-Tumble down the hall was just going to leave this door unopened. She glanced up at the jam of the doorway, trying to figure out the best way of keeping it shut. There was a lock, but of course, there was no key. It opened outwards, so if it came to the worst, she could depend on the muscles she'd built up from physical work to keep the door closed, but somehow she doubted it would measure up to a man on a mission. God, she wished she'd paid more attention to action movies! Action movies… She glanced down at the handle, the cogs in her mind linking up in thought. Was there something she could stick across the door to bar it shut? The girl glanced around—unfortunately there were no lead pipes just lying about. She turned back; what could she do? Maybe there weren't any pipes, but there was a supply closet…

The man slung his gun listlessly over his shoulder as he marked off another door with a red sharpie—another one down. He wasn't paid enough for this, he thought quietly to himself. He'd had no personal stake in losing all that money on dud guns, and he sure as hell wasn't sticking around any later than he had to in this godforsaken house. He'd heard what had happened last time a guy had been sent in to retrieve Murdoc; he'd had his face ripped off by a demon! He's also heard that this man, this Murdoc had ties with the Devil, and that just proved that the place was crawling with evil. He marched up to another door, rubbing his thigh as he hovered before it. He was getting tired—worn out from kicking in so many of them. What idiot decided to keep them all locked? This was the last one on this floor, and he'd be damned if he was going to kick in another one. He tried the handle, fruitlessly of course, what did he expect?

Angel remained pressed against the opposite side of the door, heart racing. He was right behind her! Could he feel her heart beating through the wood? Feel the heat of her body spike? She clamped her eyes tight and bit her lips to choke back a scream. Like yelling her face off was going to help at all. At least there was no way to tell that this door went anywhere special. Her body bouncing forward with a fierce kick to the door, falling back with a light thump. Her eyes flew open—she hoped to god that the metal handles of the brooms and mop would hold. The man kicked again, thrusting her dangerously close to the edge of the steps as he did. Let it be over, she pleaded, praying mentally for the first time in a long time. She was desperate, and if wishing to no one in particular helped, then she'd pray until he passed the door over.

The man scowled, nursing his sore foot. No, it wasn't worth it. So what if he came back empty-handed? He'd just tell them he wasn't there; easy enough to believe, right? He marked the door with another 'X' and limped off, cursing under his breath. So much for demons, he thought. He could at least send this Murdoc a message before leaving though, something to show for his time…

Angel could have pissed herself in delight—it was gone, moving on up the stairs to the third floor. She sank to her bottom, leaning against the stone wall with an expression of pure shock. This was the second time she was able to live through this, and by some freak miracle, she'd managed to keep Murdoc from getting whacked. The pan once again in her hand, she closed her eyes tightly, letting her breath come out in harsh, loud bursts, almost crying alone in the dark, too scared to move, too scared to even go banging on Murdoc's door to let him know what had happened. If she moved, she felt that the door would fly open suddenly at the sound of her footsteps and she'd be shot in the back of the head on sight. No, she couldn't move, only sit and breathe and cry…until she fell asleep against the door, mouth and eyes still clenched and warped from strain.


	24. Chapter 24 Last House on the Hill

** Chapter XXIV: The Last House on the Hill**

Murdoc kicked the girl roughly with his boot, shaking her arms with his heel and calling for her to wake up. Her eyes opened up weakly, her hand still tightly wound around the handle of the frying pan. She stared up at his cock-eyed expression.

"What the hell are you doing?" he spat, moving the pan away from her with his foot.

Her dazed face moved into a gape, her mind still drugged with sleep.

"M…Murdo'… Wha' you doin'…?"

"Get up," he snorted, "You look so—"

But as the night of worry and anxiety flooded back, Angel sat upright, eyes wide and focused on the man before her.

"M-Murdoc! The…people!" She motioned wildly and belligerently to the door, stumbling fruitlessly over words like "pirate" and "run". He pulled his lips back into a sneer.

"You _are_ weird, littl' vagabond."

The man reached for the door handle, and without regard to the makeshift blockade, stepped out into the hall. Angel had to cover her ears, his scream was so loud.

"**What happened!**"

She poked her head out the doorframe beside his leg, looking much like a chipmunk peering out of her burrow. Furniture, objects, possessions, shredded wallpaper littered the hall, leaving a trail of destruction fit for Godzilla. Angel pushed past him, roughly, climbing over an –upturned table, looking in horror at all of her sabotaged handiwork. All the plastic had been ripped from the windows, remnants left flapping wildly like flags in the open portholes, the cold November wind sweeping down the veins of Kong Studio. Light fixtures completely shattered littered the ground with glass shards. And whatever wasn't thrown around, whatever was bolted down or too heavy to lift, was burdened with another broken object. Her breath caught in her throat—why would somebody rip the place apart, she looked back at the bassist, for this man? Kong…reduced to a brothel of junk thrown helter-skelter into an orgy of filth. She felt sick.

Murdoc seemed less concerned about his home, and more about all the expensive things that had been ruined. Angel didn't understand—they were just _things_.

He rounded on her, face turning from sea-sick green to beet red.

"What happened?" he repeated.

"The…the people! The ones that came before…They…" She didn't know how to say it without sounding stupid.

He stared out on the ocean of discord, mounted high on top of a heap of chairs, and looked down on his kingdom. He looked over at her.

"Help me…clear all this outta 'ere…"

With careful steps, Murdoc made his way down to her.

"But…shouldn't you call someon—"

"Less talking, more lifting. You don't have those tree-trunk thighs just for show, love."

She couldn't help but look down at her legs—what was wrong with them?—and wanted to go upstairs and change into something she felt comfortable wearing outside, but he wouldn't let her, and instead kicked a book in her direction. A book? She stopped and bent down.

This…was the only book she'd brought in her suitcase.

Dropping it onto a sideways desk, she swam over the sea and struggled up the stairs despite Murdoc's thunderous voice behind her. One of her shirts caught her by the foot, shredded down the middle by a metal bracket, and with the dark fabric clutched to her chest, she made her way to the storage room with more fervor.

The third floor hadn't escaped the massacre and mimicked the scene below. The door to her ramshackle room was still thrown open, dents running deep in the wood. Another one of her shirts, only a little dirty. She picked up what she recognized, and searched like a hawk over the rest. Where was her music? Where was her wallet? She pulled up skeletons of once-instruments, and drew out the sorry excuse for a wallet, peeking inside. What did she expect—nothing, not even change for a bus. Nothing at all…her credit card, the few pounds left…everything gone. She knelt down, silent. A few shirts, underwear lying about, and what she was wearing, that was all…

She heard Murdoc show up in the doorway behind her; she could have heard a spider crawling across the floor with all the junk strewn around. She knew he was looking at her, but she couldn't turn away from the few clothes she clutched in her hands, held tightly to her breast as if they would fall apart if she let go.

"…I'll be down in a minute."

"…'F ya dun have anythin' ta wear, love, Noodle' left her—"

"I'll be down in a minute," she said again, firmer, but still not looking.

Angel heard him leave and petted the fabric of the butter yellow shirt in her paws. Why? Was she being punished for something? Being stripped of most of her possession before settling into Kong, and now that she'd chosen to stay, all the rest was being peeled away? As if it would save a bit of normalcy, she folded the shirt in-tact up on the shelves bolted to the wall and stroked it, before tossing the other over her shoulder—they'd use it for a rag. Somehow, the fact that she was in her flannel pajamas didn't seem to matter anymore…

The strain of lifting took its toll on both of the residents of Kong, but neither dared to whine or complain, staying completely silent for the better part of their hours carrying what they could out to the landfill, salvaging what Angel thought she could save and discarding the rest. Murdoc had particular trouble letting a sleek black bass go that was snapped in two at the neck, quietly tossing it onto a pile with sad, hesitating hands. They felt, even with the cold air, a warmth between them—a mansion with nothing in it but them. Murdoc wondered, as he watched Angel sit on top of a stool and fiddle with a remote with some of the buttons missing, what they would do now. To fix the entire house would drive him into debt…there was too much already wrong with it, and if he called someone to fix it, that would start a domino effect. The contractor would call an inspector—who would no doubt fail the building with all the repairs that were needed that had built up—and they would be in real financial trouble then. He rubbed a hand over his ebony hair, and a sigh escaped him. She glanced up.

"What do you want me to do first?" she asked, hoping he had a clue what to do now.

He stared at her a minute, then reached into his pocket for a cigarette.

"The studio made it, doors have a great lock. You can sleep in there. I'm taking lard ass's room, the Winnie's too cold now."

Her hands sunk to her folded lap.

"Did any of the sheets and comforters make it?"

With a puff of grey haze, he glanced over his shoulder and moved the fabrics about.

"Eh…Russel's looks awrite…2D's are still in his room 'f ya want 'em. Noodle's are pretty shot…" His body shook with a strong wind that swept through the windows of broken glass. "Fix that," he demanded, "before we die of that draft."

She fiddled with her hand, not really thinking about the list of things that she needed to do and re-do, but instead her eyes looked up at him with a soft boiled stare, full of a hovering question.

"Murdoc?"

"Hm?"

"…I'm scared."

A long cloud of smog preceded his words, flooding from between his teeth, "About time."

"I know the answer already, but," she looked up at him with a full face, "can…I stay in the same room with you? I don't want to be alone when they come back."

He looked away and ground out the dying cigarette on the floor.

"What makes you think they're comin' back?" He glanced up at her, and not seeing any intention of her answer in her expression, he sighed and got to his rickety feet. "Yeah, why not."

"…Really?"

"When's the last time I've turned a girl away from my room?" He jerked his head in the direction of the hall doorway. "If you fix it up, you can sleep on the floor, got no problem with that. Unless you want a bed," he said with a grin.

Angel helped him take up the load of blankets into their arms, and moving as one creature, with four legs and four arms, they made their way to their cave to sleep off the day with empty stomachs.

The room, gutted as it was, wasn't in bad condition. The bed was pulled off its frame, but she guessed that the mattress was too much of a struggle to lift that it had been left behind. There were no windows in this warm room, so nothing else needed patching. She spread all the covers and pillows over the large bed that had gone empty for a few months. Angel hadn't seen Russel since she had left the first time, and as she thought about it, smoothing down a thick comforter over the layers of sheets, 2D hadn't come around the past week. Where was everyone? Had they just…simply moved out? Her hands moved mechanically, and with her mind elsewhere, she didn't hear him come up behind her until he pressed his hips into the arc of her back and wrapped his hands into a gentle hold around her waist. Her body went rigid.

"You keeping me warm tonight, love?" he asked with a voice like gravel, low and grating.

She let out a soft chuckle, slipping out of his grasp and into the bed, feeling as if she'd let her guard down too much to let herself enjoy that touch.

"I'm sleeping here, because I've earned this bed. If you're keeping _me_ warm, you're perfectly welcome to sleep here too."

His expression melted from seductive to confused and a little annoyed by the switch of roles, standing at the edge of the bed, shirtless with a chain of gold hanging around his neck, a glittering Anti-Cross resting there. She leaned forward on the balls of her feet to examine it.

"Is that the one that was being cleaned?"

"What?" he grunted, glancing down at her.

"The one you gave me, you said it was a back-up."

He sat cross-legged on the bed before her, bent forward so that she could take the pendant into her hands and examine it.

"Had it made special, righ'?" he mumbled, "Had it cast with twenty karat gold. Had some…personal items melted down ta make it…"

She stoked the smooth, warmed metal with her fingertips, then turned it over in her palm.

"Haven't seen you wearing it."

"Picked it up yesterday night," he said feeling along the chain.

Angel glanced up at him, remembering what she'd waited up so late to tell him.

"I got a job interview," she said, smiling slightly, "I'll be able to pay next month's rent."

He nodded, then added, "You wrote it down?" She nodded and he chuckled. "You think it made it?"

Her face fell slowly with realization, and her eyes travelled back to the gold between her fingers. Face drawn and serious, he grabbed her around the shoulders and pulled her up to the pillows, her body limp with exhaustion and stress, her gaze far away. He tucked them under the warm covers and snuggled his crooked frame right up against hers feeling her soft skin under the fabric of her clothes, suddenly craving the legs tucked into his. He wished it was as easy as usual. If he loved and left her, who was going to clean up this mess? Her tan body would satisfy him for a night, but how long would she hang about with his scorn? No, her body…soft and supple against him, would have to wait until he could figure something out. His head hurt—this wasn't his way, he was impulsive and sporadic, and to having to put his desire on a back-burner made him ache.

Angel, hoping Murdoc wouldn't notice, or at least not mind, tucked herself tighter into the curve of his frame and curled into a ball, warmth surrounding her in all directions. He bit his lip—this was too much. She was pressed too tightly against him to think of anything else, and without meaning to, he slipped a hand under the hem of her shirt to feel her velvety stomach very briefly, so slyly that she thought it was a slip of the hand while he moved. He smirked—like rabbit ears, that girl's skin, and he wanted more. He lied awake, breathing slowly, waiting and waiting until he was sure she was deep under in sleep before he moved a leg over hers, pulling her into what little distance there still was between the two and entwined her into him, drawing another arm across her torso. She was warm and fit into the curve of his body perfectly like a puzzle piece.

He grunted quietly, afraid to wake her, and with slow, calculated movements, worked his hand back under the flannel shirt to lay a hand on her abdomen, rubbing a thumb affectionately over the skin. She would slaughter him if she awoke now…But he wanted her awake, wanted her to give in and feel him back, but for the time being, sneaky was the only way to go. He bent his neck so that he could bury his face in her cerulean hair and with a soft scratch of his nails against her stomach, he settled down and closed his tired eyes.

Angel didn't move, hardly breathed as she stared at the opposite wall, frozen with pleasure and fear. Did he think she was sleeping? She didn't care. This didn't seem like he hated her…this was something new that she wished would never end. She couldn't sleep.

But when she finally could, Angel had nightmares where she saw a little Murdoc getting beaten across the arse by a teacher and she wanted to stop the horrid old man, but her mouth was taped shut and her feet glued to the floor. She wanted to tell him she was sorry, but he rubbed his sore bottom and walked right up to her and kicked her hard in the shin. She woke with a start to find herself still weaved within his limbs and tried not to think too much.


	25. Chapter 25 Burned at the Edges

** Chapter XXV: Burned at the Edges**

Angel wasn't there when he woke up and Murdoc was left groping around at the empty blankets looking for a warm body. His eyes squinted in the dim room, searching the dark for his companion, but he knew she was gone—her side of the bed was folded up neatly. His bones ached, crying and bending from yesterday's labor and whined for him not get out of the steaming nest that kept out the draft from the hall, but it was unnervingly quiet in the room by himself and he forced his feet to the floor, rubbing a hand through his hair.

It was raining. The sky was dark and pregnant and full of blues and greys that blotted out the morning sun, but that was the routine, and he didn't even hesitate to look out the window, walking carefully in his boots, afraid he would step on a stray shard of glass. But the dusting of debris they'd left behind the day before was all swept away, leaving the tile clean. And when he realized that the rain wasn't pouring in through the open windows, he glanced up at the fresh plastic keeping out the water and grumbled. Sometimes he wondered if she was really a man, the way she worked a toolbox.

Murdoc couldn't find her for hours, but with Kong in the state it was, dim with the loss of light fixtures and barren of most furniture, he wasn't at all surprised. She had a lot of work ahead of her…

It wasn't until he'd finally dragged himself up to the third-floor bathroom—the one in the best condition of them all—that he found her scrubbing away at the black marble tub. It was chipped in numerous places, and looked even older than it had before. 2D had suggested tearing it out a while ago and putting in a luxury tub, but Murdoc held fast and kept the old-fashioned washtub where it was. He was the only one that used it aside from Noodle anyways… But there Angel was, on her hands and knees with her hair tied back with a bandana and her shirt rolled up at the quarter sleeves. That was the second to last shirt she owned, the one she prized over all the others—the black Ramones shirt. Her feet were black with soot and filth, which she kept bent up so that they didn't wipe dirt all over the clean bottom of the bathtub. She glanced up when he closed the door behind him and the entire room went into darkness, the only light being her fluorescent flashlight. The girl leaned back to her sponge and scrubbed more roughly.

"The damn light socket's fucked up," she sneered, clearly cursing the man—or men, she still had no idea how many there had been—to a thousand years to burn in hell for the damage they caused the haunted mansion. "We'll have to replace it." She sat up on her haunches, rubbing the hair from her forehead. "Morning," she added in a late greeting.

"Breakfast," he said suddenly, and it was obvious that Angel was going to rise either to abandon her task for the moment or pour the soap water from her bucket all over him in a rage. " 'S on me, love."

Her face fell in surprise, and she bent back down.

"Th…thanks."

The flashlight poured light over her in a flood, looking as if she was a divine being glittering with a halo. She probably would have smacked him if that ever came out of his mouth, though, and he'd have to apologize to the Big-Man-Below. He leaned against the side of the tub, the tile hard and unforgiving under his aging knees, and he sat silently, watching the muscles of her back ripple under her shirt as she scrubbed. She didn't lift her head, that is until sometime later Murdoc piped up, "Why the fuck haven't ya gone home?""

She stopped and made a little sighing noise before mumbling, "I can't." Angel scrubbed at the stains that clung to the marble harder than before.

"Well once you got the money—"

"I can't go home, Murdoc."

His eyebrows furrowed, "Well why the hell not?"

"Because," she started, leaning back onto her knees to rub a hand across her forehead and dip the sponge back into the bleach water, "if I call my Aunt and beg her to let me come back, she'll never let me hear the end of it. And being hitched to your wagon is a lot better than being hitched to hers."

He hesitated a moment, considering this, then said, "What about yer parents?"

"They're dead."

Like an ax—a clean cut. He stared at her, not sure if that quick comment meant she couldn't have cared less, or that it was a touchy subject. But Angel didn't go back to her cleaning, and instead sat on her bottom in the bath tub, staring at the drain, and he could guess which it was. He felt lonely again, and wished he hadn't said that.

"Stop yer mournin'," he snapped, standing up straight. "Yer fine, aren't ya?"

She glanced back at him, looking surprised. He'd just told a girl without parents to suck it up. He brushed off the front of his shirt, pawing around in his pants pockets for a cigarette.

"…I've still got the windows up here to fix. You want me to get started on that before—"

" 'M filthy 'f ya haven't noticed," he sneered between the cig and his razor teeth, "clean this up first, we'll take a bath before breakfast."

She hesitated, and glanced up just as he shut the door behind him.

"_We'll_…?"

He closed the door, standing once more in the dim bathroom, the flashlight shining just slightly on the floor, giving out. He took a deep breath of the room, filled with the scent of cleaning supplies and dropped his satchel on the broken tile floor. Satanism had its perks—it meant he always had some black candles and something to cover up smells with. He lit the wicks of black candles with his cigarette and took a long drag, sitting in his underwear on the edge of the marble tub. The water filled with burning hot water, stream rising in little puffs to mix with the smoke that drifted from the crevices between his jaws.

He was already in the bath when Angel made her timid entrance.

She thought he would have forgotten about his comment earlier and set the few mismatched towels she could find on a fold-up chair beside the door.

"This is all I could…get."

Her eyes melted in her skull, settling warmly and heavily into her stomach. He looked like a god—eyes half open, head thrown back onto the side of the tub, a cigarette wedged in his mouth. He was a demon in the candlelight.

"S-s…see you in a little," she managed, turning back to the door, not at all liking the rush of blood he gave her.

"Thought you were joinin' me," he mumbled, sitting up,

"Got to fix the windows before we get pneumonia."

"No!" he snapped, those hard mismatched eyes locking on target, narrowing so closely that she thought they were about to pop out. His voice was low and serious, a voice he reserved only for arguing and commands that were meant to be obeyed. "Get over here."

Angel felt insulted in the worst way, feeling calling to his side like a mutt dog, like she had no free will of her own, But there was something in his gaze, something that reached out with nasty black fingers and snatched her by the neck that wouldn't let go until she'd shut the door and turned with the intention of coming a bit closer. But she stopped before her hands left the doorknob. The man shifted in the hot water, leaning back, letting his smirk creep back into his face.

"There ain't much left 'a this place, and it would be a shame ta waste bathwater, don'tchya think, luv?" he hissed.

"I think you should let me get back to _work_, or you'll have nothing to eat tonight," she growled, forcing away the pink that rushed to the surface of her skin. Yes, _yes_ she wanted to get in with him, but she'd be damned if her dignity would allow it.

He sat up again, and the black hand of his manipulation once again returned to her throat, dancing its deathly nails across her collarbone. Needles pierced her nerves and drew up goose bumps, cold rushing into her veins. His mind had been made up.

"Just come here ta start, luv," he cooed with a grinding voice, patting the edge of the chipped black marble, beckoning her with the dark magic of his aura. " 'F ya want to, there's no reason why you can't."

The room's smell invaded her suddenly, the draft of the hallway having been sealed off by the door she'd just hours ago repaired. It smelled like scented oils, the black candles shoved and melted into glass bottles, musk, cigarettes smashed up into a pulp onto the floor that mixed into a paste with the water, and him—the overwhelming scent that killed her every time he got near. It had shocked her the first time she'd noticed it lingering on him, and she'd rubbed her nose in distaste, but it was enchanting in the sickest way. Leather, ash, the noxious sweet odor of beer that betrayed its taste, and his cologne in place of a proper shower—it burned the nose as if he was on fire, and it calmed the mind like the nicotine and alcohol had somehow found their way into the air he breathed out. It made her sleepy when she got too close, made her swoon inwardly to herself. It was the Devil. It was perfect.

Angel's fingers slipped off the dented doorknob and her bare soles dragged against the damp tile on her march to his side. His smirk would have split his head in head in half had it been any wider and toothier, and it made her want to smack him. He knew he was irresistible, and godamnit he was going to use that to get his way.

"Come oooon, you've already seen me naked, calm down," he muttered when she finally sat down beside the bath tub.

Her head rested against the warm marble as she sighed and looked up at him, hair damp and hanging even further into his eyes than usual. It made her smile wryly despite herself.

"You need a trim soon, Muds," she said, emphasizing that nickname.

He rewet his hair with a stroke of his hand, brushing his fringe even deeper into the middle of his face.

"Shut it, Ange', unless hairdressing is one of yer wifey talents."

Her chest ached, and she rounded on him.

"H-hey, don't you call me your wife!"

"I didn' _say_ yer my wife, I said yer _wife-y. _Distinct difference, luv." He scoffed. "Like anyone's gonna marry you anyway, heh heh, dowdy ol' thing…"

"Same to you, old man," she spat. "You're not exactly the perfect spouse."

"Hey, hey," he snapped, leaning over the edge of the tub, dripping water all over her shoulders. "At least I can admit it! You—you've still got a little hope left in that heaving bosom a yours, donchya?"

She turned away from him, drawing her knees up to her chin, holding in her breath. He stared down at her, stumped, and without a word, he slipped the cigarette behind his ear, still burning, and grabbed her bare arm, hoisting upwards.

" 'F I hafta pull ya in clothes an' all, I will."

She stared up at him with full, terrified eyes, and his face fell.

"Don't do this to me," she said in a quiet voice.

He paused, then tugged in her arm again.

"Gettup 'ere, I won't rape ya less ya ask for it." She stayed rooted. "Yer not the first gal I've seen naked, awrite? An' yer hardly one to be embarrassed, you've got nuthin' wrong wit ya…"

"I barely know you. I don't put out like a groupie, Murdoc," she spat, turning away.

"You haf' no faith, girl," he snarled.

He stood up, water pouring off his body in a waterfall, falling over Angel like a little storm and she couldn't help but turn in surprise. She couldn't look away. It was the first time she had seen a man like this…In her mind, watching Murdoc skinny-dipping hardly counted. But when she thought of how close they'd been on the shore, she felt her face grow hot. His tattoos, she noticed, her eyes skimming over his entire green-tinted body, glowed with a dark aura under the thin sheen of water and made her heart pound. The humanness of it all, the fact that he looked so perfect and imperfect at the same time made her weak. He motioned for her to stand up, and in a trance, half startled to death, she stood.

"Now turn," he ordered, and she did.

He reached to the hem of her shirt and pulled it over her head. The girl shuddered in the sudden chill with the loss of her second skin and her hands flew to rub her naked shoulders. He stayed silent, then with creeping fingers, tapped his long, pointed nails on the silver button of her pants. She swallowed a dry mouthful of spit and lowered her arms to the fly, undoing it and stepping out of them like a fireman, not wanting to give him the satisfaction of taking them off himself. Eyes half closed in embarrassment, shame, and sadness, she pressed her cheek to her shoulder and shivered. His hand grabbed hers, firmly, and tugged her towards the tub. Angel watched him lower himself back into the water and guiding her along. Without looking away, she stepped in after him and knelt down in the tub, underwear and all, feeling the pit in her stomach shrink.

He pulled her against his chest, and slipping the cigarette from behind his ear, he reclined back and let her sit. She knew he was excited, she could tell, but he made no move to rip off her clothes or cop a feel, and even when she leaned against him, her face pale with fright, he stayed quietly restrained.

"There," he said finally, a cloud of smoke billowing from his mouth, "nothin' ta be embarrassed about, love. Ya look fine."

She shuddered. He knew. Of course, she already knew that, but this made it so obvious that she wanted to smack herself.

"M-Murdoc, please don't kick me ou—"

"Settle down, love," he sighed, pulling her into his chest, the arc of her spine to his torso, and drooped his chin over her shoulder. "Dun worry about it…"

"Why are you being so nice to me? Why haven't you cornered me yet?"

"Do you want me to?" he growled, and she could feel the vibration of his voice in her skull as it reverberated in his throat. His voice was velvet.

"…No," which was the opposite of what her body screeched.

"Then there's yer answer," he said, taking another drag. " 'F I fucked ya, you'd leave… And who the hell am I gonna get ta clean this mess up? No, yer stayin' 'ere."

His hand rested on the crease of her stomach, his head thrown back against the chipped marble. He wanted her skin. It took a lot to keep himself in check, but in silence they sat in the steaming water and eventually, loving the warmth that radiated from his body, this feeling that made her forget everything he'd done to her, Angel relaxed and let herself enjoy the moment while it lasted.

"…I'll trim your hair if you want."


	26. Chapter 26 Scrape Away the Scraps

**Chapter XXVI: Scrape off the Scraps and See what's Left**

There was something in the way Murdoc spoke to her the following morning that made Angel sit quietly on the hillside by herself, just to get away. She wrapped the brown leather jacket she'd "borrowed" from the man's Winnebago closer around her and looked down over the rocky face of the hill, watching crows hop around and have little crow conversations. Her mind wandered though, and his demeanor from earlier concerned her.

He wasn't rude or even caustic in the least.

He was…in a good mood.

She'd been standing at the counter, which was finally cleaned, making coffee in an old-fashioned percolator they'd dug up, and she'd almost thrown the metal casket of searing water on him in shock when a pair of hands grabbed her hips in a death-hold. In the same instant she'd whipped her head around to scream, a long, slobbery tongue escaped its sticky cave and left a wet trail all up her cheek and temple. Then, without more than a cackle, he snatched a new pack of cigarettes off the table, threw his jacket on, and was out the door. And what might have startled her more than the facial was that, as he made his exit…she was laughing too.

She dug her chin into her knee so hard that it went numb and she wondered quietly just how used to this place she was getting. And even though it was her problems she wanted to think of, more and more her mind drifted back to the mounting list of repairs and preparations for the coming winter. There was another reason she knew Murdoc was in a good mood that morning.

For the first time, he'd paid her the hundred pounds he'd promised her when he shanghaied her into working as his…whatever she was.

It was sitting on the table where the cigarettes had been after she'd stopped laughing enough to notice.

Her pocket was full, and there on the rickety edge of a crumbling hill, she tottered and wondered what it was that she should buy with that wage. She needed more clothes, that was sure, but then again they also needed a lot more things to make their stay in a skeleton of a building easier. But…couldn't Murdoc pay for that? _Would_ he?

She narrowed her eyes and stood up, pulling her hands into the sheep-skin lining of the coat, warming up her red hands, and started the long journey downwards.

She wanted clothes to replace the ones that had been ripped up. She wanted a cell phone because the only way she knew where that bassist was—was through endless back-and-forth memos on the fridge. She wanted a charger for her MP3 that had survived. She wanted a brush, not a comb. But then again there were a lot of things she wanted, and none of those was what she bought with that hundred pounds. With a new, discounted wool hat on her head, she held a box close to her chest in the line to check-out like it was a chunk of gold.

A heater.

Small, but it was something she knew they would be wanting, and something that would have probably slipped Murdoc's mind. Angel leaned her chin on the box, glancing over at the shelves of last-minute snacks that suckered customers into an impulse buy on seeing their favorite treat. Angel's eyebrows flew up—strawberry shortcakes. Cheap little things, but she drooled at the thought and snatched one up. But when it was her turn to put her items down on the counter, she hesitated, and glanced back at the cakes and candy. What the hell, she'd only have a little money left as it was, and she picked up a little package of chocolate cake and handed to the teller. She wanted to thank him somehow.

"Murdoc," she called into the gutted lobby, locking the door behind her with a key on a long silver chain, but there was no answer.

He had to have been there though, all the lights were on. She walked down the corridor, hearing something that sounded like an animal snarling and tip-toed carefully to the studio door. It wasn't an animal, she realized, holding in her laughter, it was Murdoc. He was singing.

She quietly turned the handle and peeked into the room with her snout. He had his back to her, sitting in a swivel chair with his legs lazily thrown up onto the control boards. He had an unfamiliar black, round bass sitting in his lap, which he played easily with a loose hand, a ring on his finger making a tinny noise each time it touched a string, and he had on a pair of headphones turned all the way up. She placed the shopping bag on the plush carpet, and after removing her muddy shoes outside the studio, snuck inside to watch.

His voice was velvety like it always was, but so grating that she found it almost comical that someone that could play the bass like he'd sold his soul could make such a different noise with his mouth than with the instrument leaning on his stomach. He was grunting out a Beatles tune in such a way that it reminded her of gravel in a tin can being shaken around. It sounded much…dirtier, much darker than she remembered.

"He's got feet down _belooooow_ his knees. Hold you in his armchair, you can feel his _diseeeeease_!" he groaned, eyes closed and fingers strumming away.

Angel sat on the floor behind him, pulling off her cap and staring up at him with full eyes and a smile. He wasn't any Ol' Blue Eyes, but there was something about that voice that sounded so wonderfully raw and bare, like fire from the belly of the Earth that she couldn't help but leave him undisturbed. She knew the song, but her lips were buttoned up tight—she didn't want to ruin it.

And as his little personal serenade wore on, Angel felt like she was spying on something naughty. The way he moved, the way his eyes screwed up shut and he threw his head back and let the wind flow out from his lungs through the sharp teeth of his mouth made her stomach melt into lava and warm her up. He was enraptured by the music, immersed in it and it wasn't even his own. She wondered how much more passionate he would look playing a song written himself, and she suddenly realized that never, not once had she heard one of his band's pieces and quietly she wondered what they sounded like…

He kept strumming the main chords, bobbing his head up and down, clicking his obscenely long tongue to the snare and cymbals, eyes still closed and Angel sensed that this would be the end of his lonely indulgence. With careful backwards steps, she grabbed up the shopping bag and withdrew behind the door, trying her entrance again.

"Hey, Muds!" she called in a loud-enough voice to stir him, "I've got something for the both of us."

He glanced over his shoulder, sliding the headphones slowly down the silky surface of his newly washed and trimmed hair. He eyed the bag with widened eyes, then glanced up at her, looking confused.

"…What did you buy?" he asked, turning about on the chair, setting the bass down on the stand that rested beside the counter.

She set the plastic bag on the floor and lifted the square box out, holding it out with a smile.

"I figured we can set this up in Russel's old room since the heating's not working that well, so it'll be great for the winter."

Angel felt her heart sink when his confused look gave way to disbelief. Without a word, he reached down into a bag she hadn't noticed before a pulled out a slick-looking, bigger heater with temperature settings and everything. He half smirked and chuckled.

"That money was so you didn't hafta _steal_ things out of my trailer 'nymore," he sighed dramatically. "Honestly, love, you're a handyman, and now yer dressin' up in men's clothes? Come on. I _like_ that jacket, too."

She put her box back on the floor and walked forwards, taking his better machine in her hands and examining it with an embarrassed smile. He smirked, and with a fluid movement, he lifted up her head by her chin and he leaned down to her lips, rosy with the cold, and placed a kiss there. A short, rushed action, but it made Angel's chest beg for more and follow him back a few inches before she realized that her body was moving on its own. Glancing away, she put the machine on the floor and picked up her bag, rummaging around before withdrawing the snack cakes in her little pink hands. He laughed.

"Yer spendin' yer money on sweets again, great. Ferget it, I'm never givin' ya an allowance again, yer gonna blow it all on Bon-Bons 'stead of a proper jacket," he cackled, but when he found a little package of cake in his own hand, he lost it, coughing up one cackle after another. "And now yer panderin' me."

She smiled. This was a day she thought was never going to come—they were happy…at the same time! He put his present down on the counter, snickering, but knocked over an entire container of thumb tacks as he did. Angel bent down on instinct, reaching towards the little push-pins with quick fingers.

"God, Murdoc," she sighed.

She heard him get up from the chair, but didn't bother to look up at him until he placed a heavy hand on her shoulder, his long nails pressed hard into the leather coat. Angel looked up, and silently, with a dark look on his face, Murdoc moved in and closed off her open mouth. Her body shuddered with a shot of blood and adrenaline and the tiniest gasp leaked from the corner of their joined lips. A hot puff of air swelled over her cheeks when he pulled back, and still as quiet as before, he pushed her willingly onto her back, hovering over her on all fours. She dissolved. This…wasn't…But it was…Her body was burning, on fire from him and her skin begged for him to continue, to press himself to her as he looked like he was about to do and close that cold gap between them.

And then Angel remembered why she hated phones.

He hung his head, ebony hair sliding out from under the headset that hung around his neck like a collar and kept him tethered to the stereo. She felt an invisible hand smash her heart down, down into the pit of her stomach. They stepped on it like a dead cigarette and pissed on it—she couldn't bear the feeling of utter and complete defeat and looked away at the black bass while he rocked back onto the heels of his Cuban boots, rummaging in his pocket for his mobile.

"Wassit?" he snapped, leaning on his open hand for support, his knees teasing her hips with a touch that wouldn't come.

At least he sounded irritated, she thought, not taking her eyes off the dark finish that shone with a brilliant luster. At least that meant he wanted to get back to what he'd been about to do, but there wasn't any going back after that.

"Can…can't this wait, love?" She glanced up at him, his face twisted up into something between scowling and begging. "I know I promised, but give me some slack, awrite'? … I know, yeah… I get it."

The deep sigh that he made forced Angel to slip out from under him and brush herself off. If there was anything worse than giving in so easily, it was not going through with whatever direction those lips were going in. She licked her already damp lips, that tasted so strongly of smoke that she swore to god he was still on her, and stood up, leaving him on the floor in the middle of a negotiation. She turned away so she wouldn't have to look at him.

It wasn't fair.

He slid the cellular shut and stood up in a hurry, turning to her so quickly that she didn't even have time to glance over her shoulder before the sickly sweet pressure of his hip bones slammed hers forward into the counter. His chest slid into place against her shuddering back, and the feeling of being so constrained made her squirm and curl her toes into tight little balls in her shoes. He pressed his temple to hers as he spoke, making her flinch into his grip and clench her eyes shut in restraint.

"I want you…to stay right 'ere. 'F you move from this spot when I get back, yer dead," Murdoc hummed into her ear with such a low voice that she could barely pick out his words in that breathy sigh of his.

And then she was cold. When she heard the door shut, her hips twitched, as if they would find a trace of him there, and she punched the counter with all of her might.

_It wasn't fair._


	27. Chapter 27 Take it With Me When I Go

** Chapter XXVII: Take it With Me When I Go**

Angel kicked at the cement floor, eyes cloudy, body not really there.

She felt the strong draft that blew through the Carpark flow right through her, as if her body was a cave, and left her feeling empty and defeated. Was she really that uninteresting? He'd just gotten up and left when he was about to… In fact, she had no clue what he intended to do to her, exactly…

She stopped and stared into the grey stone—what was she doing here? Staring as the silent role of Murdoc's plaything? Her limbs went slack and she sat down right in the center of the parking lot, feeling wasted and jaded. What was the point of staying if that was all she was meant for? That's what she told herself, mentally beating her hands to her skull to emphasize her point. She was getting nowhere at Kong. But…she couldn't leave.

This place, this cold, haunted excuse for a building…she'd kissed its wounds and now its blood was in her veins and it felt more like home than her Aunt's house ever had. As much home as South Carolina? As that bungalow so very close to the shore that she could taste salt in her mouth as she slept? No. But it was eerily close. The pounding rain beat against the walls and windows like waves, and when she closed her eyes at night she saw herself in her own bed, with her mother and father in the room down the hall.

And Murdoc…Angel imagined smacking herself as hard as she could, but it wasn't enough to shake the memory of his face and touch and the way he smelled when he got close. He was another beast entirely. Men didn't hold a candle to him—he was from Hell, a demon that was damned and perfect and made all other males look like goblins… He was dark and confident, and practically oozed attraction; like a magnet, he drew people to him. She wanted to hear what he had to say, she wanted to know what he thought, wanted so badly to take him apart and examine everything that made him Murdoc. How could he be so neurotic and sane at the same time? Change the temperature of a room with one glance? He was a mystery…And at the same time, he was helpless. She felt a little obligated. Who would cook and clean and make sure he was safe if she up and left? She knew exactly why she cared so much, and knew that it wasn't logical to think that way—if he needed taken care of, he could very well hire someone.

He was with a woman, she suddenly realized, remembering his term of endearment to his mystery caller, and the pit of her stomach mutated to lead. Why was she surprised? He was attractive, seductive in the worst way…apparently famous, as least that's what he and his finances told her, so the was no reason he wouldn't be popular among women. She rested her hands on her knees, feeling the soft texture of her jeans—she stood about as much of a chance with him as a snowball in hell. Angel wondered quietly, though she told herself not to, what kind of woman he was with now? Was she worldly with her own band and lovely brunette hair? What did he like…?

She looked up at the cars surrounding her, trying desperately to escape her line of thinking, trying instead to guess the make and model of each one; at first silently, then out loud when her thoughts refused to let go of Murdoc's visage. Climbing to her feet, the sheepskin of the brown leather jacket brushing against her skin, she walked through the vehicles and ran her bare hands over each slick metal coat. So many cars…but for what? Murdoc only seemed to drive the red Pontiac Firebird, but when she turned to slip past a sports car she didn't recognize, there it was, parked and locked in its usual spot. Her heart sank. Different girl, different car? She peaked in through the subtly tinted windows, cupping her hands to her eyes. What a mess. Eight tracks, Smirnoff bottles, worn-down guitar picks, papers, a screwdriver or two, and a ten pack of condoms. She squinted—did they say…'glow in the dark'? She abandoned the Firebird and tucked her hands into the jacket. Her heart felt so low in her stomach, but when she finally looked up, what she saw made butterflies hatch in her chest. There, between two other motorcycles—a 1960's Indian. She trotted over, feeling the metal frame with excited hands. This...this was artwork, the way the entire thing flowed from handles to tailpipe and before she could stop herself, Angel was sitting down on it. She stroked the leather seat and felt a twinge in her hear—she wanted to drive it…

And without thinking too much about it, Angel was on the floor of the unlocked trailer searching for any keys she could find. She stuffed them into the jacket pockets, reaching her arms into every nook she could think of. Surely he wouldn't have lost the keys to that beauty. She found a lot of cigarette boxes, empty and smashed, and empty matchboxes, and the more she thought of them, the more she could taste the smoke on her lips and the harder she searched. That was it—every key in the trailer, and one by one she tried them in the ignition. It was a key on the end of a chain of an iron skull that brought the sleeping monster to life and called her to its seat. She put all the keys back into her pockets and sat down, feeling the handles with care, and fingered the clutch with hesitation. She'd only driven on one a handful of times, and this bike wasn't even hers, but…she just didn't care. She didn't want to think to hold back and grind out her feelings and stay silent—she wanted to let go, and so with Murdoc's bike and his jacket and his helmet and keys, she tore out of the garage and into the chilly November evening.

The cold air swam over her hands and whatever bare skin it could grab like sea water, and she took a long breath, watching with content eyes the road that was naked in front of her. No other cars, no people; everyone was at dinner with their loved ones or if they didn't have any, dining by themselves. She wondered if they were happy. And if they weren't, she hoped they would be. Angel let her mind go empty, and all she could think of was where this road went. She had no clue, she hadn't thought of that. As far as she was concerned, she would just follow this road as long as she could before it got too dark to see, then turn and come back. Murdoc would probably have been back by then, but again, she couldn't have cared less. Compared to the dignity he had taken away, a few hours on his bike was more than a fair trade. So what? He'd left.

She drove for an hour uninterrupted, only seeing a few cars pass on the highway that the road opened up to, and she felt like she could drive all the way back home if she just kept on going, but she didn't recognize any of the street signs and felt so alone. What was this place? She glanced to the side of the road, and surprised by its sudden appearance, she pulled into a roadside diner, feeling hunger nip at her stomach. She parked right next to a new-looking Harley and rested the helmet on the seat before going inside.

Angel only had enough money for a coffee and a bit of a tip, so she sat down at the counter by herself and ordered. It felt strange to be alone like she was. Of course, she'd been secluded in Kong, mostly alone, but she was out in society, dependent upon herself and not waiting around for a job to do. She stroked the white ceramic cup and let the hot drink warm her from the inside out. She drank it black with a little sugar, and the bitterness woke her up. But when the cup drained to half, then almost empty and the sky outside grew deeper and deeper blue, and people began to leave the yellow diner, she knew she had to leave too. Even the Harley was gone… With a 'thanks', and the rest of her money on the counter, she passed through the door and walked back to the Indian. She sat down, holding the helmet in her arms like a child and couldn't make herself bring the bike to life again. She felt as if she was just going to keep driving until morning and never go back.

"There's something wrong with me," she muttered, raising up the helmet to pull it over her skull.

"…The fuck? …Where are…"

She pulled the black helmet off in surprise, glancing every which way for the voice that sounded so much like Murdoc. Had he tracked her down? But she was alone in the parking lot. Static almost deafened her, and when she turned to yell at the source, Angel realized…it was coming from the bike. There was a two-way radio jerry-rigged onto the handle of the motorcycle, and it was making angry noises. It _was_ Murdoc's voice.

"Hel—you there…?" he yelled from the box, making her cringe.

Feeling stupid, she grabbed at the radio and pulled the speaker to her mouth, pressing down on the button. It made a horrible screech.

"…Murdoc, that you?"

"OF COURSE IT'S ME WHO THE FECK ELSE WOULD IT BE?" he snarled, almost blowing out her ears with his scream. "Where the 'ell are you an' WHY in Satan's name do you haf' me bike?"

A couple walking to their car gave her a sideways look and hurried on. She hunched over the handlebars and spoke into the speaker in a quiet voice.

"I just borrowed it, don't get your thong in a bunch," she muttered.

"Well my thong wouldn' BE in a bunch 'f ya didn' steal my best bike! Now where the hell are ya?"

She glanced around for a sign, but there was none.

"I dunno," she answered truthfully. "I was thinking about checking out Ireland, that okay with you?" she joked, smiling bitterly to herself, resting her chin on her arm.

"You'd better turn yer little ass 'round and come back 'fore I catch up wit ya. And you can believe yer never coming back down to the Carpark or my Winnie ever again! Give a woman an inch, she takes everything."

He stopped talking for a minute, static her only companion. She pressed the button again.

"You there?"

"Yes, I'm fuckin' 'ere! Where are YOU?"

Obviously he wasn't calming down anytime soon, but Angel didn't want to go home to that, so she settled down and made small talk.

"Why'd you put a radio on this? What, are we in a World War movie?"

"Tha'ss none 'f yer goddman business!" He paused for a long while, then finally said, "You think I carry a mobile so people I dun' wanna talk to 're callin' me all the time, yer outta yer feckin' mind. 'S easier…"

"Where's the other end?" she asked, looking over her shoulder at an old rusty car that pulled into the diner.

"Bunker," he mumbled. "Are you comin' back 'er what? I tol' ya not ta move when I left!"

"Yeah, well that was two hours ago." She hesitated, the asked, "When did you get back?"

"Hour ago, for Satan's sake! Stop wit' the twenty questions and git back 'ere!"

"Where were you?"

There was no answer, just static, and Angel was about to hang the speaker back onto its clip when his voice finally came back, lower, less angry.

"You want the truth 'r a lie? 'Cause I'm fine wit' either one."

"You think I'd ask for you to lie?"

"Lies feel betta', dun' they? Nice and cushy." He paused. "Wit one 'a my regulars. She did a big favor for me a few months back an' now I'm at 'er goddamn beck-an'-call. My back hurts."

She knew that already, so hearing what she'd thought from the beginning somehow didn't feel all that shocking. She just felt a little sadder.

"…Do you still want me to stay at Kong?"

"…" He took a long breath. "Yer a slippery littl' git…but ya do yer job. Yeah, why not."

"Can I use the bike again?"

"Heh, no. Yer banned, ya 'ear me?"

"What's stopping me from just driving off?" she said, voice serious.

"Yer broke, stupid," he snickered.

She chuckled back.

"Yeah, I guess." She smiled a tiny little grin, but it was warm; she missed his gravelly voice, and his low, throaty laugh made it impossible to stay sad. "I'm on my way back."

"Good, cuz yer in trouble. I have a punishment all lined up fer ya', an' yer not gonna like it."

Her face fell, but she wanted to see him again, and so she responded with a content tone. "Ten-four, Captain."

He coughed out a laugh.

"Ten-four."


	28. Chapter 28 An Epigram of an Epigraph

**Chapter XXVIII: An Epigram of an Epigraph**

There was no answer when she called to him, pulling the Indian into its rightful place in the Carpark. There was no answer when she knocked on the trailer or yelled down the industrial lift to the bunker. Not even as much as a grunt, and Angel made her way quietly to the stairs to look for him in the makeshift bedroom. Maybe this was her punishment—he was gone again. Her chest was still swollen with the sound of his laugh, and every time she replayed it on the phonograph in her mind, it warmed her from the heart and kept hope from slipping out of the cracks. He wasn't gone until she checked everywhere, and then she could accept it and move on. Or at least keep herself busy until she could.

Russel's bedroom door was open just a crack, and that was enough for her to let go the death hold fear had on her and peer inside. He was there all right; halfway to naked and sprawled out on the bed face-up and mouth wide open with snores. She grinned and closed the door behind her as softly as possible, no wanting to wake the dragon sleeping on his throne. He twitched, the hair bristled up on his stomach, but he didn't stir and kept on sleeping. Reaching down, she brushed the omnipresent hair from his eyelids and stroked each eyebrow that hid under the ebony curtain. It was rare that she saw his entire face at once. But she was afraid he would wake, and instead turned away to remove the jacket. It took her a moment to realize what it was, but when Angel did, she couldn't move.

There, hanging on the knob of the off-track shudder door closet, Angel found her "punishment". She felt a rush of energy pierce her chest, sending waves and waves of heat to her eyes and she choked back the hybrid of a laugh and a sob. It was beautiful. A deep, dark blue dress—bluer than the ocean on a stormy night, silkier than a Chinese gown—rested there. It ruffled at the side, closing in on the hip then draping luxuriously to the floor in deep creases. She cupped her hands to her mouth, not even daring to touch the dress for fear that it would fall apart under her fingers. There was a note on the breast of the garment, and she couldn't hide the happy tears that slipped out of her control.

'_Sorry.'_

Sorry. He was sorry. Angel muffled herself, trying to keep the feeling of firing out of her body like a rocket and bit back the scream that begged to come out of her lungs. She thought of everything he'd done to her, every nasty comment, every salt rubbed in a wound, and it all melted away at the sight of that brilliant blue jewel of a dress. His evil nature, his demonic need to feed off her emotions, the need to screw with her at every turn, didn't matter. If he didn't give a damn, not even a little bit, and didn't have a crumb of compassion for her in his black heart…then what was this?

With hesitation, she reached through the air and pressed her palms to the silk, electricity surging from her nerve endings to her mind—this was real… Saline dripped from her cheeks and soaked her throat through the gap in the jacket collar, but she didn't care, even if he woke up that very moment and seized the present from her grasp, she wouldn't care. Nothing could take this from her; not the dress, but the thought, the feeling, it was permanent and she hoped to God in her heart that this would never dissolve in her brain to memories that fade away. She could feel the evening falling into a hole and with sturdy hands she buried it deep with this moment, let it fill her up. She pressed the fabric to her nose and took a breath—fresh and with the lightest coating of perfume.

Murdoc knew she would like it, or at least figured anyone with a figure worth showing would. While pulling his Cuban heels back on, his "benefactor", Darleen, still naked and smoking a cigarette stomach-down on the bed, he let it slip what was going on the moment she'd called. Darleen beat him soundly with her boot, cursing him for not telling her. She was an older woman, single, getting into her late forties, not stupid and not eager to break a young woman's heart. He cursed back, asking what the hell she expected him to say, and lit his own Lucky Lung before buttoning up his shirt. He'd barely gotten dressed, but the damn woman snatched his hand and shoved him head-long into the walk-in closet from hell. She was wealthy, no question, and the closet was more a hallway than anything stacked to the nines with designer everything, and all from her own pocketbook. With a puff of smoke, she demanded, "You take her something. You send her my condolences…" She ground out the cigarette into an ashtray, and added, "And don't you come back here, you listening? A fair-weather girl on your arm now and then doesn't make me think twice, but I was her once, and it was bollocks."

He snorted.

"Yer a crazy ol' bint, ya know tha'?"

"And you're right behind, old man."

He stared at the clothes and shoes, and with an empty feeling deep in the pit of his stomach, he spoke without turning to look at the woman, and he spoke frankly.

"…Am I terrible, Dar'?"

"Not as much as you'd like to think, Murdoc."

And that was the last thing she said to him before sending him on his way with his clothes, a last kiss on the cheek, and a garment bag.

The silk was cool against her skin, so fragile and smooth, and she couldn't remember the last time she'd had anything so nice to wear. But Angel had to chuckle quietly to herself as she thought about that; where was she supposed to wear it between bouts of fixing Kong? She laughed again when her gaze fell to the pile of clothes beneath the dress and to the note atop the heap.

'_Now get over it and do the goddamn laundry.'_

Angel let her clothes slide off into the pile, bra and all, and without worrying about Murdoc seeing her little strip show—he was snoring too loudly and squeakily to be faking it—slipped into the gown without any regard to her lack of covering underneath. It fell around her wide hips like a waterfall, wrapped her in royalty, as if she were a model on the runway with all eyes on her.

No one was looking.

So what?

Never wanting to take it off, Angel bent down and carefully lifted the comforter up and over the mess of a bass player laying helter-skelter across the mattress, and then climbed under herself. It would wrinkle the dress, but she could dig up an iron and fix it up later. Now, she wanted to savor each fold and brush against her skin that was slowly losing its light tan. Her arms found his neck and draped over them affectionately. She knew this little act of kindness didn't make them any more than what they were, whatever that happened to be, but the soft warmth of his skin was sweet to hers like chocolate and she couldn't get enough of the feeling, as is she would wither up and die if she didn't keep a finger on him. She tucked her face so gently into the base of his neck and gave up whatever shred of sanity she clung to. Murdoc was Murdoc, and she felt like this was just the tip of the iceberg. He would either kill her or make her into something better, but either way, she was stuck…


	29. Chapter 29 White Claudia

**Chapter XXIX: White Claudia**

Angel was never one to groan or whine, never one to cling to someone for company or demand any more from them than they were willing to give. She was always the giver, patiently waiting for people to come to her rather than going after them herself. She would open up her arms, and see who came. Her mother had always been the same way…Her edges had dulled since her death, softened from her stubborn, headstrong youth. Instead of getting into scraps over little arguments, she resigned and waited and waited until the other person was so thoroughly tired from yelling that they were no longer angry, or at least unable to fight any longer. She was patient now, a skill learned and cultivated over years of practice.

She was skilled with her hands, tools; digits that used to coax music from metal and wood now grew so calloused with water and chisels. But Angel never let on that she cared, never complained about her work, after all, she was used to playing the mother, cleaning up after what remained of her family. Now Murdoc, however strange it sounded, was her family, so she worked hard. Of course, when he wasn't looking, the girl slipped into the undamaged recording studio and encouraged the instruments to sing for her. Her voice was deep—it resonated with the tone of a woman, despite her age. She felt ageless sitting on the plush carpet with anything within reach. She very much enjoyed an old sitar that has a deep ding in its body, she loved how tinny it rang, echoing in the small room when no one was around. There were times, however, when her desire for the Satanist's company was too much to deny, and it was when she felt the most lonely that she dared to draw the black, sleek bass unto her lap and make music with it with inexperienced fingers. It sounded as dark as he did, his serious voice, but she was deeply disappointed with herself when she couldn't draw out the same sounds that he could. Angel flicked her wrist, plucked, ran every inch of her fingers over the steel until her fingers bled, but it seemed to be of no use. It was as if he had utter control over this instrument, and she was never to gain that control.

She tried to pass off her blisters on the tips of each finger as burns or slips, but Murdoc wasn't stupid—he'd had those for so long until his skin grew thick to the sting of the metal…But he humored her.

Murdoc was never one to let anyone know exactly what he thought, at least deep inside his soul. He was indeed the loud mouth, and was always the first to voice his opinion, but there was always one crucial piece of information held back—an ace in the hole if he ever needed one. It was the same with this woman.

He interacted with her as much as he would any other person, but there was always a point in the conversation or the silence in which he would get up and leave, as if he was getting bored. She hardly ever bored him—in fact, trying to find ways to get under her skin was becoming a new pastime—but there were times when he just dropped everything and left Kong altogether. She had a strange effect on him. When she listened…she really listened. No snarky remarks, no motive other than to hear him talk. She didn't hang on every word like he was her Messiah, didn't beg for personal information. It was like talking to a pet, and he meant that in the best of ways. She was just…there. And he found it a little too easy to let his lips get loose around that girl.

It startled him a little at first, then a lot.

It was becoming easier and easier to let that little voice inside him that yelled "that's it, shut up now," go unnoticed, to just blabber unto the ether about whatever was on his mind to that warm lady. The more he watched her, the more he thought of her as a lady. She had the build of an older woman than someone in her early twenties; she had, to put it bluntly, a perfect body for child rearing. And the more he noticed this, the harder it was to think of her as a girl…She was very good looking, seemed eager enough to be around him, turned to putty when he used his charm, and despite that, she reigned herself in and stayed more level-headed than he could have ever managed in his entire life. She denied herself, it seemed, to keep what? Her sanity? Women were interesting creatures so begin with, but she was an entire study all by herself.

He watched her sweep crumbs out onto the deck from the kitchen, the open sliding door inviting in the crisp November air. It would be winter soon… Murdoc leaned his chin on the table, just watching, uncharacteristically quiet, and it made Angel a little nervous.

"Going out tonight?" she asked, trying to get him to talk just a little bit. He always was eager to jump on the subject of his latest escapades.

But he just peered up at her from under his ebony mop, eyes glazed.

"Hmm," he hummed, half laughing, half sighing. "Hmm-hmm."

She stopped sweeping for a moment, frozen, suddenly feeling nervous, but quickly resumed and tried not to think of how ominous that snicker sounded.

"I'm leaving," he said all at once.

Her stomach fell down to the basement.

"Wha…what?"

He leaned back in his chair, tilting it back so far that he was almost falling over.

" 'M sick of this hellhole, I need to take off for a bit, 'kay?"

She placed her hands together on the table, and in a weak voice she asked, "Wha…what should I do?"

"I'm leavin' Kong in yer care, awrite'? 'F we both leave, then this place will be burnt to the ground by the time we get back." He saw the distress in her face, and added, leaning over the table towards her, "Dun worry, when I get back, I'll send you wherever ya want, how's that sound?" Her ears perked up. "You can go anywhere…Long's it ain't Mexico, cuz I dun want you makin' a break for it, hear me?"

That was hardly a bandage over a wound that was just starting to develop in her chest.

"But…" her voice died down in her throat, her mind deciding that he wouldn't care, nor would he change his mind.

It was December and tomorrow was Christmas Eve.

"I was gonna ride the Indian out, f' ya wanna tag along. I need someone ta take it home anyway."

"Huh?" she mumbled, not really hearing what he'd said; her stomach was currently being smashed on the floor with an invisible boot. "Oh, yeah, sure…"

He got to his feet and crouched down before her, cigarette shifting to the corner of his mouth as he took her hands and spoke.

"Dun' look so low, girlie. Ol' Muds j'est needs ta take some time off, awrite? That dun' mean I'm leavin' fer good, got it?"

Her expression was blank.

"Is that what you tell every girl you leave behind?"

He looked as if he's just been struck, and his cigarette fell out of his mouth as she went to stand.

"Wha… Ange'!"

"I'll ride you to the airport, but that's it."

And she left the room, Murdoc still crouched down and unable to form a response. It was true, he said almost the same thing to each one. Difference was, it usually had the exact opposite effect. He sat down on the floor and stomped out the smoking cigarette on the floor, sighing. She was a strain on him, made him feel weak, and as of late, he was running on empty. That was why he needed to get away. Namely, he needed to get away from her. She was always around, and there was something about her that he wanted. But no, he had to reel himself in because so was too damn different. If he took he, she was gone, he knew, he could tell. And he couldn't take it much longer…

They took the same road that Angel had when she'd run away, up and away into the snow that had just began to fall. There was no one around, barely even another car travelling with them. Everyone was where they wanted to be, she figured, except them. Angel held on tightly around his leather jacket, squeezing her wrists into his warm stomach; her chin rested against his shoulder, and staring out at the pure whiteness of the world, she was empty. Murdoc would soon be gone, and she'd be traveling alone down this road, again, but she clung tight to him, and it made it feel like he was never going to leave, as if this was only a day trip that they were taking together and that night they would sit on the couch drinking coffee—Angel's with cream, Murdoc's loaded with sugar—and they would fall asleep watching a boring movie or the news. Yeah… that's what they would do… Angel breathed in the smoke from his jacket, the cigarette smell peppering the searing cold wind that froze her cheeks and nose pink and rubbed her fingers together under the heather grey gloves, leaning over his shoulder.

She was still angry, and hadn't said a word to him since they left, but that didn't mean that she didn't want to, but it was the principle of it. If she spoke to him, or begging for him not to leave like she wanted, then he won and her will meant nothing. He glanced back at her for a minute, getting nervous. He knew for a fact that what they said about a woman's scorn was true, and he was eager to gauge just how mad she was.

"Hey Ange'?" he prodded, getting her to look at him. "You hungry?"

She didn't say anything, and rested her head against his back, staring out at the white world. He looked down at her momentarily.

" 'Cause there's a littl' place in a couple miles. Could use somethin' in me 'fore I take off, how 'bout you?"

She still didn't say anything, but he could feel her arms wrap just a little tighter around his waist, and he smirked.

"All right."

Angel glanced up to the building coming up on their side, and her expression was unreadable—this was the diner she'd stopped at when she took the Indian for a joyride. Same butter-yellow paint, same white-washed porch. She pressed her knees into his hips hard, leaning into the turn, and savored the dull warmth she felt under his clothes and closed her eyes—she felt so weak…

She sat down quietly next to Murdoc, not looking at him until he nudged her with his elbow.

"Get anythin' ya want, Muds's payin'."

Angel had no intention of looking at the menu he slid her way, but suddenly she felt him sit down on her stool, straddling her and holding the menu out in front of her face. He pulled it in so close that she was almost touching the plastic, and he trilled in a high, squeaky voice,

"Weeeeeell, Miss, would you like ta start off with the smoked sea bass or the veal, hm?"

Her lips couldn't contain her cackling laugh and it burst right out, making him smirk. She pushed the menu away, and he got up, feeling satisfied that the Niccals charm was infallible. Angel gave him a muted smile—at least he was trying, she thought, and he deserved a chance at least.

"I'll get a cup of coffee," she said, folding her arms on the counter.

A waiter, a big Italian-looking man, approached them and Murdoc's face fell.

" 'M havin' coffee and th' girl's gettn' a coffee n' a soft boiled egg wit' toast, kay' mate?"

Angel gave him an sideways look and shook her head, smiling.

"Such a gentleman," she said, chuckling.

He smirked, leaning his palm on his chin. His body could relax—the bomb had been diffused. Murdoc got to his feet and patted Angel on the shoulder when she moved to follow suit.

"J'est gonna run ta the loo, love. 'Nless you'd like to join me…"

She imagined that he was wiggling his eyebrows, but under that curtain of hair, the action was useless. She laughed a tiny little laugh and sighed.

"As appetizing as that sounds…"

He patted her once more and disappeared around the corner as her coffee arrived. She cupped her fingers around the warm, white ceramic, pressing the rim to her cold lips and letting the steam rise up into her face. The drink filled her emptiness up, just a little, though she didn't know how much she'd want to eat…

A plastic coat brushed against her as a man sat down and she turned, about to tell him nicely that the seat was taken, but the harsh, searching expression on the young man's face startled her.

"Can I help you?" she asked defensively, shifting her cup towards her.

He grinned, chapped lips pulling back to reveal a mouthful of teeth yellowed by smoke.

"Yer that bassist's new tart, eh?"

Angel blinked, completely caught off guard by the question and timing.

"E-excuse me?"

He chuckled and leaned in closer, scratching the bristle on his cheek. Angel squirmed away, glancing to the bathroom doors.

"Ya know, 'is girl 'a the week? Yer lookin' pretty chummy wit 'im, eh?"

"Yeah, guess so," she muttered, leaning her head on her hand.

It was quiet for a minute, and Angel refused to speak to the man, which seemed to make him flustered and mad.

"So how much 'er ya for?"

She turned her head, looking very unamused, and said flatly, "More than you can afford," before turning back to watch the bathroom doors.

His face grew red hot and he ground his teeth together.

"Ya dun' hafta be difficult," he snapped, "I j'est want a good time, y'know?"

She thought she was the door finally move, but couldn't quite catch a look at who it was before he grabbed onto her shoulder and tugged, trying to force her to face him.

"Hey, lady, 'm talkin' ta you."

She swatted him away, and glanced up. Murdoc placed a hand down on the counter beside her, his fingers drumming in unison.

"Canchya tell when yer not wanted ya sorry arse?" the bassist seethed, eyes narrowing. "I told ya last time I threw you off the tour yer ta keep 'way from me."

He withdrew his hand and chuckled.

"She's jus' a tart, wassit ta you?" he snickered. " 'M sure you can 'fford some nicer one wit yer fat wallet. One wit' a nicer rack, nicer hair."

Murdoc's lips curled up in a sneer.

"Besides, since you kicked me outta th' road crew, I've realized…yer a faaaaake," he drawled. "All talk an' underneath yer a sad, stupid man."

"Yer tread'n a thiiiiiiiin line, mate," he warned.

He coughed and pointed up at Murdoc, whose hands were beginning to shake.

"You think yer such a god, eh?" he snickered.

"Do you know this gu—?" she started.

"Shaddup, 'm not talkin' ta you."

Her fist burned on the cool marble and she could feel Murdoc trembling with anger behind her.

" 'M warnin' you, mate…"

He shouldered right up to Angel, making her shiver and choke back a yelp at the static shock his coat gave to her skin.

"Besides, Gorillaz are bollocks," he said in a low tone, chuckling. "Glad to be off yer shitty tour, yer gonna get what's comin' ta you." The man narrowed his eyes. "Guess who came 'round bangin' on my door last week, hm?"

Murdoc was silent, boiling over.

" 'As righ', they did! Them Black Clouds, they came an' asked me where ya've been." He lowered his glare. "Yer a dead man, an' I'm sure yer tart's gonna think twice 'fore sleepin' in the same bed wit you."

The loud, hollow thump of hand on the counter so disturbing that everyone in the diner fell silent and stared over at the demon rising from Murdoc's cavernous heart, making his eyes glow with coals of searing fury.

"THAT'S IT!" he cried, and with one movement brought the blonde man to the floor, punishing the sides of his skull with his fist, punching him again and again, and Angel was frozen, feeling sick.

The stranger pulled at the bassist's clothes, barked and swiped at his face, nose going bloody from the blows being laid on him over and over. He threw Murdoc down on the tile, rolling on top and wrapped his hands around his neck, squeezing until she could hear his throat give out a harsh choke. He yelled incomprehensibly, shaking him, pummeling him with the palm of his hand, but Murdoc didn't let go, only grabbed madly at his hair and glowered, teeth grinding together.

Angel didn't feel herself move across the floor, but more through time, and suddenly her hands were on the stranger's coat, tugging, and her mouth was spewing out words that she couldn't understand. She was in a red fog, and everything sounded muffled. But she was angry—furious at the sight of the blood seeping from his wonky nose, and it made her lose sense of herself. A dull pain flashed in her cheek, but she didn't realized what had happened and kept pulling.

Suddenly her hands were ripped free and she could finally see, a force pushing the fog away, and Murdoc was standing, blood dripping down his face, hanging on her shoulder as if he were missing a leg. He panted, holding her back and weighing down painfully on her at the same time.

"N-no, ya don'," he huffed, "This bastard's mine."

But he moved with a sway, and couldn't quite find where he was. The stranger wavered, holding onto the counter for support, and called out to Murdoc through the blood pooling in his mouth.

She grabbed Murdoc by the back of his jacket and tugged him to the front door with little resistance. He was dazed, struggling weakly towards the man he could barely see through his unfocused eyes, and yelled out incoherently in streams of babble, and it made Angel wince. Her face grew hot—each and every person in the diner had stopped what they were doing to stare at her. She touched the door handle, trying to give an expression of sincere guilt, but the only looks she got in response were of shock or ones that translated to, "Get your child out of here!"

She leaned him up on the leather seat of the Indian, dusting the powdery snow off before he sat down. The black, maniac laughter that spilled out of his mouth was hardly muffled by the white snow, and try as she did to hush him, he only grew louder and louder and startled patrons shuffling to their cars. His eyes met hers, playful, but as his laughter began to die away, his eyes became stony. She took a palm full of snow, heating it up in her rosy hands that were losing feeling, and rubbed out the blood drying up on his face.

"So," he finally said in a raspy voice, clicking his tongue, "you j'est let people do whatever they want to ya', eh?"

Angel scoffed in a half-laugh,

"I ignore them," she said calmly, wiping off her hands on her pants.

"Oooh, I see, you j'est think that by taking the _moral high ground_," he squeaked in a high-pitched voice, "you think yer in control of the situation. So people can say what_ever_ they want, an' you won't get mad? Yer just a saint among mortals, eh?"

"Never said I don't get mad," she clarified, "I _try_ to ignore people. Easier than jumping on them."

His smirk pulled into a frown.

"Yer a twat."

"Thank you," she mumbled, straddling the bike.

He didn't seem to notice that Angel had suddenly decided to drive, but if he was truthful, which he rarely ever was, he was grateful not to have to grip onto the handles as his fist swelled up and knuckles cracked and bled from windburn. He tucked his knees into the groove of her waist and leaned over her shoulder.

"Yer not an angel, why the hell you try to act like one?"

Her hands froze on the key, keeping the bike from living again. She turned her head, feeling his rough stubble against her raw cheek; it still stung from the sound slap she'd taken.

"I'm not an angel Muds," she muttered, finally igniting the engine, revving the motor. "And I don't try to be."

"No, no, yer not what you seem, dun' try an' fool ol' Uncle Murdoc. Yer selfish, aren't ya?"

She helped the bike along through the snow, bringing it slowly to the mouth of the parking lot. She didn't say a word.

"No, wait, you used ta be, huh? 'S'at it?"

Still no answer. She only tilted her head sideways, looking for an opening to pull out into the highway and rejoin the vein of cars.

"Yer parents?" he jabbed, and in an instant, her elbow dug fiercely into his ribs.

He huffed, bringing a hand to his tender stomach, and Angel gave him such a horrid look that he could have sworn she stole it from him.

"You shut it."

"So 'at _is_ it," he whined, holding onto her hips while the bike flew recklessly onto the freeway and took off, throwing slush into the air behind them.

They were quiet as the snow fell, the wheels making drowning, screeching noises against the damp pavement, pushing on, and Angel felt as if her stomach had been left in the parking lot. Murdoc rubbed his sore joints and hugged his knees tighter to her hips.

"I was a brat."

He glanced up, but she didn't turn, only kept her eyes forward and hand on the clutch,

"Hows'sat, love?"

It was quiet for a mile or so, icy and long and he was eager for a story, for it was always him pulling out tales of his drunken escapades and he wanted some entertainment that wasn't made by him.

"When my Mom died," she said, mouth running dry in the frigid wind, "I stopped coming home after school. I left my Dad alone when I should have been taking care of him. And when I finally wised up, it was too late. So sorry if now I want to make up for it…" she spat.

"Dad, too?"

"Accident, on the boat dock. He was unloading a tanker and cargo fell on him."

Murdoc's mouth curved into a deep-set sneer. He couldn't stand people acting so sappy, so self-righteous.

"Look, j'est cause ya dun' like what 'appened dudn' mean ya hafta deprive yerself of act'n—"

"Yes it does!" she yelled, silencing him. "Now shut up and let it _go!_"

"Now _that_ sounds like the real Angela.

She was silent, and then,

"Who're the Black Clouds?"

He scoffed.

"You've seen 'em, stupid. Those guys like ta come over and rough up my humble home? Yeah, yeah, they've got quite an ego on 'em, 'at's fer sure."

"…Why are they after us?"

"Eh-eh, not you me."

"You, then."

"Ahhhh, thought ya said ya didn' wanta know, hm?"

Her hands gripped onto the handles hard.

"Well, it kind of affects me now, doesn't it?"

He huffed, and muttered.

"Dudn' matter, the less you know the better prob'ly…"

And then silence.

Sign after sign passed, and they pointed longingly to places where Angel had to fight the urge to pull into an exit and shanghai Murdoc into an unplanned vacation. She wondered quietly where he was going this Christmas. Somewhere warm, she hoped; a beach. She wanted that now more than anything, and the idea of being there with Murdoc shipped her off to paradise. She wanted wet sand sticking to her tanned skin, eating boardwalk food and clams and king crab in a rickety wooden restaurant on the seaside, fishing in the morning, swimming at noon, and walking the shore at sunset. She bet that Murdoc would have some luck on the Midway, as cunning as he was, and there would certainly be enough girls in bikinis to keep him occupied. Her heart sank—she'd left her bathing suit in Carolina.

"—ngel!"

Her head jerked up, mind snapped back to the highway.

"What?"

"Wake up, tosser, you're gonna miss the turn!"

She shifted lanes, swerving over and onto the exit, and as they went over a tiny bump in the road, Angel felt his hands slip under her jacket and latch onto her side, warming themselves against the cold that turned them from a green tint, to red. Her spine perked up at his touch, skin shuddering with his freezing fingers, but she said nothing, enjoying it. He squeezed each fingertip into her waist as they turned, inching closer and closer to her back, closing the gap between them. He felt drowsy, tired and sore and he dreaded reaching the airport. That was more stress than he cared for. At least he could hit the bar before getting on; nothing like a good vodka before a plane ride to knock you right out. He could always change his mind at the last second, decide not to go, because after all, that was not at all a rare occurrence for him. But he was already almost there, and with the snow beginning to fall down steadier and steadier, the ride back might be even more stressful than the ride out. He ducked behind her to cut the wind, sliding each hand forward, caressing her velvety stomach and letting his arms nest inside her coat.

"You sure that's it? You're not taking anything on board?"

Angel waivered in the drop-off zone, helmet in hand, half on and half off the bike as if she were going to follow him inside. He scowled.

"Got my wallet, passport, ID, cigs…what else do I need?"

She frowned, but didn't press him.

"You don't want me to wait?"

"What's the use? Yer not gonna be helpn' me with my bags. J'est leave, an' be back Wednesday at four, got it?" She nodded, but he emphasized sternly. " If I get out 'ere an' I dun see ya around, yer in for it, and I mean bad, awrigh'? Seventh circle bad."

Angel placed a hand over her heart, and two fingers up on the other.

"Scout's honor."

He stomped out his cigarette he'd just lit up, and ground it out into the pavement.

"Awright. Got Jamie's number on the frige 'f ya need 'elp, but try ta lay low, kay? I dun' want the Clouds up my arse again…"

Her stare was hard and vacant.

"…Who's Jamie?" she asked, but he'd already turned his back and was waiving over his shoulder.

"See ya after the holiday, Ange'! Maybe I'll bring ya a souvenir, heh-heh-heh…"

"Wait, who're the Black Clouds?" she called, dismounting the ivory motorcycle, struggling to catch up with him.

Murdoc turned slightly, looking surprised, but then he smirked and said something that made her blood freeze up with the rest of the winter world.

"Dun' worry 'bout it."

And with one last Queen Elizabeth wave, he disappeared into the airport without another word. And Angel was officially alone.


	30. Chapter 30 Black Mariah

**NOTE from the author**:

"I've decided not to switch over to a new 'story' for DARE Part 2. I've decided to keep all the chapters in one place so that no one has to go through the trouble of finding it and adding it to their watch list. I know it's a long chapter list to scroll down, and if it becomes too much of a hassle, please let me know, because I'm hoping to add at _least _fifteen more chapters.

On a side note, the song below is 'written' by Angel; it's an original song and is not copied.

Enjoy the latest chapter of DARE!"

**Chapter XXX: Black Mariah**

The full impact of being alone didn't hit her until she closed the door to the front lobby behind her and she heard absolutely nothing but the buzz of the florescent lights overhead, and her own light breathing. There was really not a soul around, and that was how she was spending her Christmas. It was just another day, she thought to herself. Tomorrow morning would be like any other in December. Maybe she would watch the parade in New York City on—Her heart sank. No, she supposed not. But maybe there would be something else on the local news.

At least he'd left her a few pounds to survive on for the next couple days, and she felt at her back pocket where the remains of her last pay lurked. She'd already bought food for a big Christmas dinner, so at least there was enough to eat, but the idea of cooking all that for just herself seemed even sadder than not having anything to eat at all.

She could handle not getting presents. The last gift she'd received from her Aunt was a pair of gloves and a paperback romance novel that wouldn't interest anyone under sixty. She hadn't thought of that book since she'd stuck it under her bed the next day, not wanting to see it. A tale of a young woman falling madly in love with an evil man. She chuckled. Maybe she should have read it, she thought, maybe it would have taught her a life lesson.

There was little heat left in the veins of Kong, its hallways still drafty though Angel did her best to patch over all the windows. Little cracks in the walls and holes in the plastic sheeting let in fierce, chilling drafts, and she could find no escape except the windowless room in the heart of the building—Russel's old room. It was the warmest room in the first place, with heating vents running over the walls and ceiling that can from the bowels of the studio, down deep in the boiler room. The closest she ever dared venture into that maze of pipes and valves was the room right before it to use the ancient washing machine. She thought to ask for Murdoc to somehow put one in upstairs, but decided against it and washed little loads in the black marble tub.

But occasionally steam would leak from the vents, heating up the violet-colored room with a haze of grey mist. There was the header Murdoc had bought too, which Angel felt nervous about running all night long while they slept, but some nights, it was the only way they could keep warm. He suggested sleeping naked to "conserve body heat". She said nothing because the only words that she could think of were "yes" and "please". But what surprised her perhaps more than the fact that they were still sleeping in the same bed as the weeks passed, was how close he would get to her during the night.

He started out back-to-back, maybe rolling over and smacking her in the face with a hand or his head, but as the nights wore on, his legs would curl up to fit into the curve of her thighs, calves tucked in between hers, locking them together. His arms wound around her shoulders or neck, and the more he pressed himself to her, the easier, she found, that she could sleep. His scent was intoxicating, and lulled her into a trance in the darkness, melting into his skin. There was nothing in the world that made her sleep as well as he did, and each morning, she would rise to find him sprawled face-down on the pillow beside her, arms and legs outstretched like he'd been shot, which made it easy to slip away and go about her jobs for the morning.

But sitting, wrapped up in a blanket-cocoon, Angel couldn't feel the same warmth no matter how many clothes she wore or how high the heater was turned up. He created an inner warmth, stoked the fire smoldering in her chest with a flame that seemed to never go out, growing ever stronger in the darkness. It was a wave that radiated off him, and calmed her body and mind with his rough touch. She crouched in front of the TV, not really seeing what was on, and just thought quietly to herself, withdrawing into her mind. Hours passed in that way, but to her, it felt like days. In her imaginary reality nestled in her brain, she was asleep with a warm body pressed to her back, and she could almost, just barely feel him there…But just not enough to make her feel whole, not quite.

It was too much, and she got to her feet, abandoning the thought of him and walked out into the cold hallway, picking up the roll of plastic sheeting, a box knife, and gaffers tape. At least if she had something to do, she wouldn't think so much. And anyway, if she was going to be alone for Christmas, she'd be damned if she was going to be stuck in that one room forever.

The roll was heavy, but Angel had built up a significant amount of muscle since she'd arrived, and as she set it down beside a broken window, she realized much has changed since she'd arrived… She looked older, though twenty four has hardly any different than twenty three—her birthday had come and gone with no notice. Her hands were calloused now, from sneaking in sessions with Murdoc's black bass and all the cleaning fluids and water. And, she realized, she hadn't sung since her first day at Kong.

She stared down at the plastic wrap and felt empty again. The tube made a hollow thump against the tile floor as she ran to the studio—while he was gone, it wasn't time for work, wasn't it time to play?

She sat down in the recording studio and played the old wooden sitar than had a sad gash in its body, and though she was still unable to make it sing just the way she wanted it to, it felt good to hear music that was her own again. Her lips moved in an unfamiliar way and her lungs pushed out a voice that wasn't exactly her own.

_A cold bead in a rosary_

_ I wrap it around my hands_

_ As not to touch you_

_ An arm reaches out_

_An ember_

_In a dark forest_

_It burns me_

_It blackens my skin_

_It pulls me, struggling_

_ Into the sea_

_ My blood becomes a wave_

_My skin the salt_

_My bones the sand_

_And my mind is gone…_

She leaned the body of the sitar against the sole of her foot, playing up and down the scales, fingers moving without any instruction and her brain somewhere else entirely. She felt each metal string carefully, feeling its texture as one after the other they rolled off her fingertips.

_A flame that burns_

_ Without light_

_ Without warmth_

_ Leaves a scar in the earth_

_Fiercely by my nails_

_ I crawl through the soil_

_ Bitten by the hound_

_ That could smell_

_ A weak prey—_

Angel sat up straight, hearing the unmistakable noise of someone pounding on the front door. Her blood chilled in her veins and stopped like a backed-up train and she could only sit… and listen.

There it was again!

A steady knocking the floor bellow, firm, loud enough to be heard from the studio. She leaned the sitar up against the desk and, pulling her jacket around her body tight, slipped from the recording studio and went to answer.

But she wasn't stupid. She tip-toed up to the door, careful not to step too close lest she cast a shadow under the door jam or be seen through the fish-eye lens. They knocked again, obviously not giving up easily, and Angel wasn't sure what to do. Ignoring it was probably best, but what if it was…Murdoc? What if his flight got cancelled? If she didn't open up, she'd be in for it. But… what were the chances, really? She stooped down in front of the door and quickly, deftly, leapt up and peered through the lens.

Her heart jumped up into her mouth, and in an instant, she ripped the door open, startling the man on the porch.

"2-2D?"

He looked back at her meekly, arms up in defense.

" 'Ange, yer still 'ere?"

She hung in the doorway like a ghost, not really knowing what to say to him.

"Er, yeah, yeah…I'm still working on the building."

He glanced up at the broken windows and tried to cover up his confusion.

"Oh, 'er…g-good job!"

"It got trashed," she sighed, "so that's probably the only reason I'm still here..."

"Murdoc's, in, then?" he piped up.

Her face fell and she fiddled with her fingers.

"…Actually no. He… took off for the holiday."

2D's brow furrowed, his barren, black holes gleaming in his skull. He looked as if he'd just tasted something bad and wanted to spit it out.

" 'E's…gone? An'… j'est left you in this place?"

"Yeah, but it's all right. I'm a big girl, I can take care of myself." A gust of wind carried a harsh wave of snow into the lobby, and Angel clung to her jacket. "You should come in, this is getting pretty heavy."

He hurried inside without any argument, and before closing the door, Angel hoped that Murdoc's plane got off the ground alright.

He was sopping wet, coat soaked right through from the snow, which he promptly threw off. His hair stuck to the sides of his face, and though she hadn't seen him for a month and a half, he looked even skinnier than when he left Kong, which made her worry a little. Where had he gone? Angel went to hang his coat up to dry and called over her shoulder,

"I planned a Christmas dinner for Muds and bought all this food, but it would be a waste not to use it all soon. You hungry, 2D?"

His nose twitched like a puppy's.

"Ab'lutely, haven't got a good meal in me fer weeks."

"Where have you been, anyway?" she asked, leading them up towards the kitchen.

He stood up straight and thought for a moment before answering.

"Er…'ere an' there, y'know? Been tryin' ta lay low fer a bit. Sometimes be'n in a band's a little too much, y'know? Popped down ta see my folks fer a time, they're doin' the same's I left 'em, heh."

She smiled back, even though she had no clue who his parents were or in what state he'd left them last, but it was nice to talk to someone that seemed genuinely happy about something that wasn't about him or the irritation of others.

"Haven' seen Russ 'er Noodle, though," he added sadly. "Could really give two shakes 'bout Murdoc since 'e seemsta come back awrite every time, but poor Russ… 'e's not been same since the last album, 'an Noods j'est stopped talkin' to us alltogetha' 'fore she left. 'S little spooky, yeah?"

He sat down at the table, and Angel wasn't quite sure what he was talking about or what to say, so she just nodded sympathetically and that seemed to satisfy him.

"Yeah…" he mumbled, "spooky."

The buzz of the fluorescent light overhead was the only noise for a long moment, before Angel gathered her thoughts.

"I bought a ham, if that's all right, I couldn't get a turkey. I didn't really know what the English eat for Christmas dinner… But there's stuffing and ham and I could make some gravy. There's potatoes in the bunker, and I bought some French beans and there's some hard cider Murdoc left in the fridge. I could heat that up if you'd like, or get some brandy or wine out from his stash. There's chocolate pudding mix, too."

When there was no response, she turned over her shoulder worriedly; was that not something good for Christmas here? His mouth hung open like a door in a wild storm, and his eyes, like usual, were glassy and unreadable.

"Y-you can make all tha'?"

She smiled.

"Yeah…I mean, if you'd like?"

He nodded, looking as if he was lost in thought, and she got to work.

Cooking had never really been exactly fun for her, she could never find the same joy in cooking as some did, but she was glad that, for once, she got an extra two hands to help her and someone who she could talk to. 2D was the type of person to blabber on about things that seemed philosophical, but the more she listened, the more confused she became. It wasn't like listening to Murdoc's wild stories, more like reading a book whose pages were rearranged before printing; but it was nice to listen to. She talked about Kong for a little bit, fuming over about how all of her first-round work had been destroyed, and he seemed sympathetic.

"After a while," he replied, "ye j'est give up. 'S like…overwhelming, ya know? Dun' worry 'bout it so much, 's awrite ta let it go when 's fallin' down," he told her with a broken-toothed smile.

It made sense, but if she stopped working, Murdoc's little pays would stop, and maybe the rent would come back.

Angel blinked a moment, almost letting the potato she was peeling fall into the garbage, and thought to herself for a minute. He hadn't asked her for rent…not once. He threw his weight around, threatening to make her pay up all the months she'd stayed there plus interest, but no matter what she did, work harder or slack off, he never made her pay him a cent… She glanced down, and felt her thoughts gnaw at the hole in her stomach. 2D accidentally nudged her with his too-long arms, struggling madly with the knife over the tuber's wet skin. She nervously held out her hand.

"Wh-why don't I do that, 'D? Can you fill some pots up with water?"

He handed the potato over, relieved from his struggle, and scrounged around in the cupboards.

"Howssit goin' wit Muds, by the way?" he asked, sounding as if he wasn't sure he would like her answer.

"Oh, it's um…He's something else."

" 'E's a wanker, 'as what," he muttered.

She glanced over and was surprised at his expression, his face pulled into a severe scowl.

"He's all right, he's just a pain. Like a little kid."

He gave her a serious look, losing his boyish charm for a moment.

"You betta' watch yerself, 'kay? I say it ta every girl 'an they neva' believe meh, but you seem nice, so I'll warn ya." He shook his head as he spoke, " 'Dun trust 'im. Not a wit, 'kay? He's a liar, an' 'e ain't never gonna change. 'E'll pull ya in an' spit ya out, so whatever ya do, 'dun trust 'im."

Angel felt a great void growing inside of her that pushed against her skin, threatening to make her burst—so it wasn't just a groundless fear, it was true…He probably did the same crap routine to every girl. He was probably playing her too.

"…Yeah," she mumbled, turning away, "I kind of figured that out."

2D wasn't watching the pot fill under the faucet, letting it overflow, but was giving Angel a hard look.

"Ah dun' tell meh, 'Ange. 'E got to you too?"

Her hands got hot, the way they always did when she got embarrassed, and the tips of each ear felt as if they were burning. A forced laugh slid out from her lungs.

"No, no, don't worry about me. I'm here for the work. It's not like I've got anywhere else to go."

His glanced up.

" 'Ey, 'f ya eva' need a place ta go, I've got a pad up in Colchester," he piped up, startling her. He looked lost for a moment, then admitted, " 'S kinda small, an' messy… an' cold. 'S only one bed 's ya'd hafta sleep on th' floor…'An there ain't much 'ot water…" He paused for a moment. "Maybe you'd be better off wit' Muds 'ere…" he mumbled thoughtfully.

She smiled, cutting the potatoes into fourths, grateful for his offer. But… leaving Kong seemed impossible, now. She remembered Murdoc offer, now, and thought quietly if he was really going to send her where ever she wanted to go. Angel doubted it, and went about cooking dinner.

It seemed, when they were finished, that this was a meal for a large party, but only two sat at the table, talking happily and sneaking the pudding first before the ham. Angel was glad that everything came out all right, no major screw-ups, and to her, that was good enough. It grew dark outside, early like it always did this time of year, and everything was coated white, undisturbed all around the studio, covering up the tracks 2D made coming up the path. Angel was glad for the company, even if it wasn't Murdoc. She had new resolve in her heart—so what if he was gone? She only wanted _somebody_ to be around, and now that 2D was home she felt better. But the hole in her stomach refused to fill up and she still felt a nagging uneasiness in the corners of her mind.

He saw the faraway look in her eyes, and grew silent for a moment, letting his fork fall silently back down to the plate.

"…You 'kay, Ange'?"

"Hm, oh yeah, yeah, I'm just…I've had a long day, sorry. You said that he hit you with his car—"

The telephone started ringing on the wall, and they both turned to look at it, neither one moving to get up. Angel glanced at 2D, and walked over to the phone, answering it tentatively.


	31. Chapter 31 All That Glitters

**Chapter XXI: All That Glitters**

Angel glanced at 2D, and walked over to the phone, answering it tentatively.

"Hello, Kong Studios," she said, her voice strong, though she was apprehensive. Should she have answered at all?

There was a commotion on the other end, static coupled with passing conversations. She pressed her ear closer to the receiver.

"…H-hel—"

"_Hello?_"

She flew back, nearly dropping the phone. Angry jabbering flooded from the speaker as she struggled to regain composure. 2D stared at her, eyes wide.

"M-Murdoc?" she asked.

"Hey, hey _finally!_ Come get meeee!" he yelled, trying to raise his voice over the background noise.

Her heart leapt into her throat, and her hands grew hot.

"What's wrong, what happened?"

There was worry in her voice, and 2D got up, gravitating to her side to hear better. Murdoc sighed, a deep, long, exasperated sigh.

"Every goddamn plane's been delayed. 'S snow'n like crazy, an' they won' let us on the goddamn planes… So come get me!"

2D pointed to the receiver.

" 'S 'at Murdoc?"

She nodded, and before she could speak, 2D had the phone in his hand.

"Mu'doc, what'er you doing leavn' Ange' 'ere on 'er own?"

Angel couldn't hear what Murdoc said, but only muted screaming, and 2D's face crumpled up.

"Yer a real knob. She couldda got locked out…or somefink."

More yelling, more insistent this time, and all of a sudden she could hear clearly,

"—An' what the fuck are you doin' there?"

"Wanted ta pick up soma' my stuff from the room downstairs," he muttered, "Where they 'ell are you?"

Jabbering. Angel reached out to take the phone, hesitating, but he didn't seem to notice.

"Serves you righ'," he mumbled under his breath.

"What—wassat, you twat?"

Angel slid the phone from 2D's hand and tried to calm him down.

"Muds, Muds—"

"No, no, you put 'im on th' phone 'gain, I want to blow 'is goddamn eardrums out!"

"Murdoc, Murdoc, can't you take a shuttle back? I don't know if I can even remember how to get there, or if we can with all the snow,"

He clicked his tongue.

" 'F there was a shuttle, would I be callin' you?"

She perked up, forgetting herself for a minute.

"Did you get a cell phone?"

"_Stay focused!_" he snapped. " I may worship the Big-Man-Below, but that dun' mean I want ta spend my Christmas packed up in a terminal wit' all these loonies…"

She looked from 2D, who looked annoyed and irritated at having been screamed at, then to the wind blowing powdery flakes around, her eyebrows knitting together.

"Murdoc, it's snowing too hard, I doubt that I could get through…"

"An' leave me 'ere all on my lonesome fer Christmas? Have you no heart woman?"

Angel's face flooded through with heat , her hand's grip becoming like iron, and 2D twitched. She lost control.

"You bastard! That's exactly what you did to me! Why in the _hell_ would I come get you?"

" 'Cause yer such a good spirit," he hummed, snickering. "Yer a better man than I….er, woman, heh-heh."

"You're a real card, you know that?" she snarled. "You take off with no notice, and then expect me to be sympathetic."

"I'd rather be at Kong than shacked up 'ere," he said flatly. "An' I didn' leave ya alone ta spite you, by the way. Not eveythin's 'bout you."

Angel felt as if she'd been struck, and the flame roaring in her chest was doused and smothered out. Her shoulders went slack.

"Hello? Helloooo?" he piped up.

Her mind snapped back.

"Nnn…you're a real bastard…"

"Dun' I know it, love," he said with no humor. "Ya gonna do me a favor? I'll pick you up a _niiiice_ present, promise, eh? I'll make it up to you. Give you a Christmas Eve you'll never forget, heh-heh-heh…"

She rubbed her temples, letting her anger go, letting it drift out the window an into the white world outside.

"Yeah, yeah I'll give it a shot, but don't you blame me if I can't get there."

"I'll call you a saint 'f ya do, love. I'll wait in the lobby, write yer name on one 'a those big white cards, too."

And all she heard after was a dial tone.

Angel hung the receiver up into its holder only to turn and find 2D giving her a hard, blank stare. She moved past him quietly to pick up a set of keys hanging on a peg beside the door.

"Yer no' goin' tag it 'im?" he asked, disbelief in his voice.

The tone he spoke in made her feel small and ashamed, but still she moved to the brown coat hanging on the back of her chair and slid into it.

"I know…" Angel said slowly, not having the courage to look him in the face. "But…I can't just leave him there."

He hurried alongside her, eyebrows furrowed.

"Yea', you mos' cert'ly can," the man asserted, trying weakly to stand in her way. But she was nearly twice his size in width and his scrawny body was not nearly enough to impede her. " 'E left me in Japan 'fter a gig. J'est left me! Noods an' Russ 'ad ta convince him ta wire me the money ta get 'ome!"

The words cut into her, making her feel insignificant and small, but her feet kept moving to the car park. Her stomach was crumpled up into a ball squeezed up in her throat, making it hard to speak, but she could see that gaunt figure clad in black before her like a vision and she reached out to it by quickening her pace.

"I know, I should let him rot…But I can't just leave him there…"

2D slowed to a stop at the top of the stairs, frowning.

"…'E _did_ get to ya, didn' 'e?" he said quietly.

The girl glanced back up at him, injured, and gave him a dire, pleading look, hands growing clammy against the metal railing. What was there to say? It wasn't as if it was a great secret anymore—it just wasn't spoken of. It was shameful…and filled up her emptiness more than anything since her parents' deaths ripped a deep hole. He was such a relief, such a deceitfully wonderful distraction and a drug that kept her satiated in a place that otherwise would have driven her insane.

" 'F you go ta git 'im, I'm leavin'" he said suddenly, and Angel felt a stone fall into her abdomen. "'S nuthin' 'gainst you, 's j'est that I'm not gonna wait 'round ta get beat up."

She hesitated—they were having such a great time. It was wonderful to speak to someone else for a change and she didn't want him to leave. But her feet began to move backwards in a force all their own and she apologized, "I'm sorry, I have to…"

2D watched her drift over to the Pontiac and climb inside, feeling lonely as she pulled away and out of sight into the concrete tunnel that burrowed under the cliff. He wavered, hoping that she would change her mind or was unable to reach the road, but eventually dragged his sneakers against the stairs and made his way up to the kitchen to leave.

As soon as she hit the road at the mouth of the tunnel, Angel could tell she was in for an experience. Nothing plowed. Of course not. The sports car climbed slowly and reluctantly over the snow, hopefully still on the pavement. She grip was like iron on the brown leather steering wheel—she rarely ever drove cars, and this added to her anxiety. What if it was like this the whole way there? Could the car make it? She stared out in to the sheet of white, barely able to make out what was ten feet in front of her. This was bad, very bad and getting worse. She was infinitely glad this didn't hit when she was on the motorcycle, but now she feared for herself in the relative safety of a car. She rolled to a stop, seeing something wrong with the road ahead of her, and slumped back in the seat.

"No…this isn't fair…" she groaned, letting her arms fall to her sides.

The already unstable parts of the cliff were being weighed down with the snow that had been building up for the past few days, but they'd finally given way in the fresh covering and buckled, sending a drift of white powder and rocks into the valley where the road was tightly nestled. She listened to the heater hum lowly and just sat there, staring at the pile that refused to give way. She could go back, just throw it into reverse, since there was barely enough room to turn around without the blockage, and just go back into the studio. But Angel couldn't muster up the mental strength to do so and curled up in the front seat, letting the worn-down cloth upholstery warm her bare face, and just laid there in silence. All she could think about now was what 2D had to say about Murdoc.

Was it worth it to satiate her bizarre desire to be around him if she was just going to be worse off in the end than when she started out at Kong? She blinked slowly, her mind empty of all other things. The Christmas dinner in her stomach turned into lead, and she was motionless. If he was just going to use her, what was the point?

But then again, if he was just going to use her, then wouldn't he have done so already?

But then again, he was clever, and the wait could just mean something worse was in store for her…

Angel's mind was a broken record with these things turning endlessly around and around and around, and it took her another five or ten or twenty minutes—she wasn't too sure how long she laid there—before she shook herself free from the cycle and sat back up to take the wheel. She turned and clamped onto the passenger's headrest, throwing it into reverse.


	32. Chapter 32 Virus in the System

_Note from the author: _"Be warned, in this chapter there's some heavy sexual humor, so if you're easily offended by that, I'm warning you now. To those of who love sexual innuendoes, I hope you enjoy!"

**Chapter XXII: Virus in the System**

The building was quiet when she called 2D's name, and Angel made her was silently up to the studio to pick up where she'd left off, head hung. Not only couldn't she pick Murdoc up, but now 2D was gone—she was alone again. There were dishes and food to clean up upstairs, but that could wait; she needed something to make her feel good again.

But as soon as she pushed the white door open, something snapped in her chest.

"2D! You…didn't leave?" she asked in confusion.

He glanced up from the keyboard he was crouched over, looking surprised.

"No Muhdoc?" he asked in response.

"I couldn't get through, too much snow, the Pontiac couldn't handle it. All Murdoc's got are sports cars and motor cycles, they can't make it through."

He scoffed.

"Yeah, 'e's always been lik' 'at. 'E'll take the Geep out, an' 'f 'at doesn't work, 'e walks. Stupid."

She sat down on the plush, cream floor beside him. That was always something she liked about Kong—no matter what shape the rest of the building was in, the studio constantly remained in pristine condition, and she tried her hardest to keep it that way.

"So, I never really asked Murdoc, but…What's up with the band you guys are supposedly in?"

His eyes went wide like saucers, and the cigarette he'd been finishing up fell down onto the keys in surprise.

"Yer…yer kiddin', righ'? Gorillaz? You dun' know who we are?"

She shook her head sadly.

"No, sorry."

"Ya know…Clint Eastwood? Feel Good Inc.?"

"Oh!" she exclaimed, head perking up. "That last one, I heard that on the radio one time. It was good, I liked it," she said with a smile.

2D was still too stunned to really make a cohesive response, and make a noise that sounded like "thanks" but she wasn't sure. Angel got to her feet, and walked over to the row of string instruments, looking through them.

"Do you mind? I was playing before you came."

He shook his head, wiping off his keyboard.

"No, no I dun' mind t'all. I 'ven't played in a while ta be honest. Feels good…"

She glanced over at the corner, where she'd lain Murdoc's black bass gently up against it stand, and went to reach for it, but something clamped around her ankle, keeping her rooted to the floor. 2D had his long hands locked onto her calf, a worried expression on his face.

" 'At's Muhdoc's! 'E'll slit ya 'f 'e finds out you've been playin' any of his basses!"

She furrowed her eyebrows, grabbing onto the neck of the bass as he let go of her.

"I think…he knows I've been playing it," she said quietly. "He's never told me to stop, but…I have the feeling he knows."

Angel pulled the guitar onto her lap, and sat down beside 2D again, leaving the bass unplugged. He stared at her sideways—this was weird, he thought, no one could play Murdoc's instruments and get away unscathed when he found out. But there she was, playing the rich black Fender with all her limbs and an unbruised face. She was playing something Latin-sounding, and it made him feel at ease. It was strange to hear something so soft and gentle from Murdoc's bass, something that wasn't him at all, something purely her.

"So," she spoke up suddenly, startling him, "How did you guys get together?"

"Murdoc 'it me wit 'is car."

The girl looked at him with a blank face, not really allowing that to sink in, and asked him to repeat that.

" 'S true, twice. 'E it me twice. An when I got outta 'at coma, 'e had the balls ta ask me ta join 'is band. An' I was stupid so I went along wit it." He frowned deeply. "Wassn' 'til 'e started beatn' up on me real bad that I wised up…"

She stared at him for a long while, mentally watching him get struck with a car and wincing at the thought. The worst she'd done was break an arm or a leg cliff diving—she couldn't imagine getting hit with a car, let alone twice.

"Well…why would you stick around, then? If he treats you like that?"

" 'E was lik' th' cool older brother, righ'? Lik', the kind 'at buys ya cigarettes an' the records yer mum dun' want ya ta play?" he said, fiddling with a harmonica in his skeleton hands. "But afta' th' first album, 'e changed… 'E got meaner… Playin' tricks 'at weren't funny 'nymore, an' I realized tha' it was a trick…tha' 'e neva' thought 'f us lik' a family, lik' I did. It was like…" He squinted, searching desperately for the right word. "Like it was a game, 'er somefink… Lik' we were pieces in a big board game, an' 'e was the king…"

There was a pause after he said that, a deep silence where they sat looking at the floor, as if they were committing some great sin by divulging exactly what they thought of this man… Neither of them really heard the Spanish riff that Angel played mechanically and slow, without really thinking about it, only the quiet of their own separate worlds of thought. 2D licked his lips.

"An'… I realized… tha' 'e wasn't the older brother 'nymore. 'E was lik'… a drunk dad, always tell'n me what ta do…" He kicked half-heartedly at his empty soda can.

Angel glanced up, her chest heavy.

"You really liked him, didn't you?"

His eyebrows knitted together, and he made a soft sort of clicking noise with his tongue through the gaps in his teeth.

" 'E was a blast… 'E was fun… Felt like I was smart when 'e asked me ta join 'is band. I was always the boring, stupid kid an' Gorillaz made me feel…wanted. Lik' I was worth somefink."

He flicked the green plastic lighter on and off in his palm, fingers moving like long slender branches in the wind, and his eyes were farther away than usual. The usual glossy black that coated the surface of each eye was replaced with a matte jet, and his body went limp under the sigh that rattled from his chest; he looked like a pile of bones.

" 'E neva' really got ta Noods 'er Russ 'at much. Russ was too smart fer 'at. 'E threat'ned Muds early on an' never really got much shit from 'im. An' Noodle… 'E jus' kinda… rolled off 'er back. She said tha' 'e did what 'e did cause 'e was scared 'a people, that it was an act an' it was sad."

Angel looked down at her hands, letting those words sink in. Scared? Murdoc? It didn't seem like th right words to describe him, like trying to pound a square peg into a round hole. But the more she thought of this, the more sense it began to make.

"Either way, 'e's a righ' bastard. Couldn' believe it when ya tol' me 'e wasn't 'ere. Thought it was a god-send. 'E's been getting' on me ta git back 'ere an' make 'nother album."

Her ears perked up.

"Really?"

He frowned.

"Yeah. But I'll pitch mahself offa th' top 'a Kong 'fore I join up wit' 'im again."

Angel's eyes travelled slowly down to the carpet, then back up to him.

"But… if you didn't want to get the band back together… then why did you come to Kong thinking that he _might_ be here?" she asked quietly.

His jaw hung open slightly, but no words came out. He only stared at his socks and sighed another deep sigh.

'Lik' I said…Gorillaz made me feel good…But 'e's…e's unbearable…"

She stroked the side of the black bass with gentle fingers, her mind filling up in a flood of thoughts. 2D's eyes began to droop, overcome with the strain of his medications, slipping dangerously close into unconsciousness. Angel looked up.

"D?" she asked.

"Eh, yeah?" he mumbled, eyes closed.

"How does Murdoc get rid of the girls he gets tired of?"

He peeked over at her through a half-open eyelid, his eyebrows pushed together in a look of pure pity for a moment before saying, " 'E starts makin' fake promises an' tellin' 'em things 'ey want ta 'ear. An' then 'e j'est stops callin' 'em. Cuts 'em off….completely."

She thought he'd drifted off to sleep, but then he added, "Dun' let 'im leave ya be. 'At's the mistake 'ey all make…they give 'im 'is space…"

She leaned back against the wall and tilted her head down to rest on the polished neck of the guitar, plucking at some strings heartlessly. Don't give him space? She thought hard about that, playing a tuneless song as 2D slipped from consciousness into a prescription-induced dream.

Angel sat like that for a long time, but eventually stopped playing and just sat there in silence. She was stupid…Placing the bass carefully back into its stand, she bent down and picked up a blanket that the band used to stuff inside the bass drum of Russel's kit to muffle the sound, and draped it over 2D as he slept. She gave a tiny smile, brushing the blue hair from his closed eyes, and patted him on the head. He wasn't Murdoc, but he certainly made her feel better. She wanted to thank him more than she could possibly put into words for sticking around, but settled for this and got up to go pack all the food away before it got hard.

Angel went about her business, cold and alone, putting everything away, and was in the middle of putting the dishes away when the kitchen phone began to ring. She stared at it, unsure of whether or not she was going to answer, but at the last ring, she picked it up and spoke tentatively into the receiver.

"…Hello?"

"Where the 'ell are ya? I've been watin' around fer hours."

She took a brief moment to gather her thoughts, then answered,

"The road's blocked, Muds, I can't get through. You'll have to wait until morning, I'm sorry."

He made a grunting noise, sighing, but finally spoke.

"Awrite', awrite, fine, but I betta' be 'ome tomorrow, Ange', kay?"

She pressed the receiver in close to her mouth, as if somehow unconscious 2D would hear her one floor below.

" 'D's pissed at you, Murdoc, not too happy…"

"Yeah, well, ya know what th' little twerp shoulda know what 'e was gettin' into when 'e signed up for the goddamn band, eh? 'E dudn' wanna sing, 'e'd betta' find me a vocalist that'll do 'is work for 'im."

Angel pulled her hands into her sleeves, drawing her knees up to her chin to keep herself warm in the freezing kitchen.

"Couldn't you have called a little earlier?"

"Well," he answered in a high-pitched, girlish voice, "I wasn' sure how early I was s'possed ta call you back, baby, how soon is too soon, ya know? I dun' want to scare you off. I want to give you yer space."

Give you your space... Angel buried her face into the hooded sweater. There was a long pause, and for a moment, she forgot she was on the phone until she heard, "Hello? You still there? Hellooo?"

"Yeah, I'm here."

He breathed out a heavy, grunting sigh, as if it pained him to hear her speak.

"Sooo…" he drawled, "What're you wearing?"

A laugh burst from her chest, so loud that Murdoc had the pull the speaker away from his ear for a moment.

"Are you kidding me? You really want to play that game with me? Forget it." she snorted.

"Hey, I need somethin' ta entertain me," he hummed.

She rested her head against the wall, chuckled, and glanced down at herself.

"Uh, well, I've got on a lovely grey hoodie, three times too big for me, and a dirty pair of jeans that have…some kind of black crud on the bottom..."she said, reaching to pick it off.

"Ooh," he drawled, "Daddy likes that."

Angel couldn't help but fall into another wave of hysteric laughter, finding it hard to keep herself quiet any longer.

"You're sick," she managed between giggles.

"Are you gonna keep goin' 'er am I gonna hafta guess?"

"Uh, what else…Oh, tube socks."

"Mmmm."

The girl tried her best to keep the laughter in, but this was priceless. Even when he wasn't there, he could make her Christmas Eve a little better. It felt like she was with friends again here with 2D and Murdoc, who was only somewhat there; dirty friends, but friends.

"And underneath, I've got on a black v-neck."

"Oooh, black, you naughty girl…"

She cackled, asking suddenly, "Are there people around you, Muds?"

"What'er you talk'n 'bout? 'M in the loo wit' the door closed."

She smirked.

"I'm sure you are."

He shifted in the uncomfortable row of seats, having picked the one closest to the wall-length windows to escape from the few dozen stranded travelers who were huddle up according to groups of friends and family. He was sitting alone. He almost always sat alone.

" 'Bout everyone's asleep in the terminal, I've been to the bar a dozen times, an' I'm bored outta my mind. Humor me."

"And a hat," she added, smiling.

"Ooh, what kind of hat?"

"Mmm, a wool knit one."

"Nnn, best kind. Bet it's keepin' yer head real warm-like…"

Angel laughed, "You got it."

"What've you got on _underneath_?" he mumbled, voice turning low and gravelly.

Her face flushed suddenly; this was only a joke…right? Then why did she suddenly feel so embarrassed? She should just play along, she thought quietly, and choking down the lump that flew into her throat, she answered,

"They're red," not really knowing what else to say.

"Hm, the red and black striped panties? I like those…"

Her cheeks turned fifty shades of scarlet, her heart stopping momentarily so that she couldn't breathe.

"How the hell do you know what underwear I have?" she asked with an edge to her previously even voice. He chuckled darkly.

"You think I dun' look when yer chagin'? Ya do it righ' 'n front 'a me. Or do ya think I'm really asleep?"

She was empty of words, her mind drifting back to every time she changed while he was still sleeping in the early morning or tucked in for the night, racing to get on her clothes without waking him up, and her chest clenched up. All those times…

"Those 're the only red ones you've got. What else?" he prodded, voice growing darker with every word, and it startled her. This didn't seem like a joke anymore, and she regretted getting herself into this, but at the same time liked what he was saying.

"U-uh," she stuttered, off-guard. "B-black—"

"The plain black silk one, ooh, what a combination. Though really, you should get more than two bras, love. Shake it up a little…"

"Well," she started, her mouth dry, "I have more important things to buy than…underwear that no one sees. Or at least I _thought_ no one saw," Angel snapped at the end.

"You wanna know what I'm wearing?" he asked suddenly.

"Do I?"

"Nuthin'," he hummed. "Stark naked in the middle of the terminal."

"Ooh, baby," she said in a deadpan voice, silently happy that the attention had turned away from her and how obviously awkward she was. She'd never had phone sex, let alone mocked it, and even while she was trying to make fun of the whole situation, she was still self-conscious and inexperienced. Murdoc sounded convincing enough, even with his jokes, that Angel was sure that he'd had his fair share of it…

"Didn' know you were into all tha' exhibitionist stuff, Ange'," he purred, and at once she felt even less at ease than before. "Thought you looked more like a…hm, what _would_ you be into exactly?"

Angel couldn't force words from her mouth, as shaken as she was by the question, and suddenly she realized the game wasn't much of a game anymore. Her voice waivered, hands growing clammy and ears getting hot against the phone, but he spoke up before she managed an answer.

"Ahhhh…I see," he hummed, "…Yer a virgin."

"What?" she sputtered, shock growing into anger. She wasn't angry because he wasn't right, she was angry because he'd guessed right away. "Why would you think that? Just because I won't tell you what I'm into?"

"It's so obvious. You've got that whole '_I've-never-been-shagged_' look about you." He prodded her further. "Have you even ever been kissed by anyone 'sides me?"

Her mouth hung open stupidly.

"Don't take me for that much of a prude."

"That's not an answer."

"I've been kissed plenty of times, don't worry about me."

"Done much else?" he growled, sounding as if he was enjoying this more than he should have been.

"You know what, don't worry about it, okay?"

"Ooh, that's a no…"

Her face burned and she began making vehement gestures with her hands even though she knew he couldn't see her.

"Yes, okay, I have! But don't rag on me just because I haven't had sex, all right? That doesn't mean I never want to. It just means that men are pigs, all right? I'm not thinking about living the life of a nun."

She didn't mean to say all of that, but it just kind of spilled out, and Murdoc was silent, lounging back in his chair as he stared out the window to the snow coating the runways. Angel sat quietly a moment, then asked tentatively,

"Y-you still—?"

"So," he interrupted, as if she never began talking, "How old are you again?"

"Twenty," she said slowly, then continued, feeling defeated, "…four."

Murdoc made something that sounded like a 'pfft' noise on the other end, and Angel's face fell.

"That's kinda sad, love."

"Shut it," she spat.

And then he said something that turned her stomach on fire; that made her bones melt helplessly into her skin and her throat fall into her abdomen.

"Maybe I should fix that when I get back," he purred.

Angel's legs drifted from her chest to touch the cold surface of the counter, and she didn't even seem to notice her own discomfort as she turned those words over and over in her head like a stone in her palm, hearing every syllable twice as slow. If that was a real offer, and the chances that it was were probably about fifty-fifty, she wondered how long she'd be able to hold out if he made that his new goal…

"Anyway," he mumbled, moving to lay back in the series of chairs, "You want to be on top, or me? Personally, I dun' mind a girl 'at takes the reins, but whatever you'd like."

"How about I'm neither, and you call me in the morning?"

"Aw, that was unfriendly," he muttered, pouting. "Besides, what else have you got to do at," He checked the sets of digital clocks up on the opposite wall, "Eleven at night, hm?"

Angel let out an exasperated sigh, but finally caved into her guilty desire to hear what else he had to say, whether it was going to be sarcastic or not.

"This is still a game, I'm not doing anything."

"Eh, 'at doesn't mean I can't."

She laughed again; the idea of him sitting there in the airport having this conversation with people sitting next to him and the faces they must have been making made her just a little less tense. Had she known he was sitting alone, she might have felt otherwise. He tucked the phone against his shoulder and folded his arms up underneath his head.

"So, which is it?"

"Well dammit, I might as well be on top, hm?"

"Well," he hummed, "if yer so experienced, love, why don't you start?"

And she was left speechless, hopelessly embarrassed, and blushing like she was naked in front of him. She might as well have been. This was a cruel joke on her, and Murdoc grinned at himself, hearing her quietly fumble for words. Of course, he could have taken control and made this hilarious, or even made it serious if he wanted to hear her startled reaction, but this, hearing her mentally squirm and waiting for what she'd come up with was far better than whatever he could say. Angel made a subconscious, muted groan of discomfort and fear, and he was relishing every second that passed in relative silence.

Finally he decided to put her out of her misery, at least somewhat, but he wasn't quite done with this deliciously awkward conversation, and with a voice that sounding convincing—firm and confident—he said, "Take off your pants."

But all he got in response was a dial tone, and he burst out in a coughing-laugh, so hearty that people that had let him go unnoticed before began to glance over at him disapprovingly. He couldn't have given a damn—that was too hilarious to regret, and he settled down on the chairs with a fresh confidence in how this year's Christmas would be. She was interesting, and the fact that she was a virgin just egged him on all the more. He'd had his suspicions, but this made him eager—goddamn, when was he going to be able to go home?

Angel pressed the phone hard into the holder, unable to move for another few minutes, when she tentatively drew her palm away. She hadn't meant to hang up like that all of a sudden, but he…he was torturing her. He was probably joking…probably, but the shock of his command had reached deep into her and burned her with desire so strong that she panicked. That wasn't at all what she expected…She got down from the counter and walked quietly to the door. If he hadn't called back right away, then he could wait until morning to speak with her again. Maybe by that time the roads would be clear enough for her to bring him home, or at least for him to find his own way back. She froze in the hallway, thinking about what he'd said.

"Maybe I should fix that when I get back…"

Angel shuddered—she'd have trouble sleeping tonight.


	33. Chapter 33 Bat Outta Hell

**CHAPTER XXXIII. Bat Outta Hell**

2D woke to find the room spinning, and he immediately felt sick and groaned. Out of the more-than-frequent times he slept for far too long or not at all, he took the over-sleeping harder than not sleeping. He leaned up against the wall, his skull beginning to throb dully, the warning signs that it would soon split in half with unbearable pain—a gift that kept on giving courtesy of Murdoc F. Niccals. He reached into his faded jeans' pocket for three white and green pills; the only ones he'd brought. He hadn't expected to stay long, in fact, he hadn't expected to stay at all.

The room was empty besides him, no sign of Angel or otherwise, so he took his time waking up, rubbing his black eyes tenderly with the backs of his hands, yawning into his knees. But as his brain began to power-up, he remembered all at once that it was Christmas Day.

Christmas…

He felt at the back of his sore neck, feeling strange. Christmas at Kong had always been a big shindig, and even though Murdoc was far from a "good" Christian" as one could get, he was always real into it. That wasn't to say that there were trimmings and trappings and holiday cheer, more like a house-full of people 2D didn't know and lots and lots of drinking. The previous year had been the worst so far…

The hype over Demon Days had certainly drawn quite a crowd to Murdoc's infamous Christmas-do, and word had spread further than it ever had. People were so tightly packed in the building that the fire Marshall would have had a heart attack had he not been drinking away in the lobby. 2D usually adapted well to crowds—he had to!—emptying his mind and blending in particularly well with others. The only ones that bothered him, really, were the girls, and he really didn't mind them much until they started asking for creepy things, like underwear and locks of his hair. But this…this was a whole other beast that forced him to stand outside in the cold for a good portion of the evening to keep from getting harassed or tossed around.

Parties never went particularly well with Noodle to begin with, but the last one was especially hard on her. Drunk men wall-to-wall practically shoving drinks into her hands, no matter how frequently she declined. 2D looked down at his feet, remembering clearly, or it had happened in this room…

Noodle sought out some relatively solitude in the recording booth of the studio, plucking out some notes on her cherry-red Fender when Murdoc stumbled in with a crows, offering her yet another beer. 2D was hanging in the doorway, and he would never forget the look on her face—disenchanted, disappointed, frustrated. Muds had always had a bit of a shine for her, treated her nicely in comparison to others, never flirted or made advances, which was a miracle really. And when he did get drunk and make a rumpus, Noodle has always sat calmly and quietly until he grew tired.

But this time something in her snapped, and she slapped him right across the face, firmly, swiftly, and 2D had never, _never _seen Murdoc look so blank and utterly shocked. He remembered her walking right past him and out the poor without a word, and how Murdoc stood there, speechless.

No woman, no girl had ever had as much power over that man than Noodle, and 2D felt a deep sadness in his heart as he thought of his band. He could certainly go another lifetime without seeing Muds again, but he missed Russel and Noodle dearly. Where had they gone? It was as if they'd disappeared from the world. But this Christmas here, there would be no band, no shindig, no strange people. It was eerily quiet. He got to his feet, feeling the pills beginning to take effect, and started to search the studio for the only other companion he had for the day, but she was gone. The only sign of her was a tray of pancakes sitting on the kitchen counter and a pot of fresh coffee.

Angel kept her head turned to the ground as she worked, shoveling away snow like a machine. Her muscles ached and joints screamed as she entered the second hour, but the road was the only way to get a car out of the garage, and not only did that mean that she couldn't go out to pick the insistent Murdoc up, but also that they couldn't get out for any other reason. The fact that she would finally get to drive a car for the first time in half a year was just a bonus… The road wasn't terribly long, but she was only about halfway done, and with determination, she kept digging.

2D could just barely make her out through the kitchen window, and he suddenly felt at home. He felt, with the way she carried on, as if she were much older than he—motherly. He couldn't really think of a concrete reason besides the cooking, but it was just the way she worked so diligently, he supposed, as if she'd taken care of Murdoc and Kong forever. He wanted to tell her to get out of this run-down hellhole and never look back, to find herself somewhere nice to settle down, but at the same time, he wanted to keep her around for a bit—she was comforting.

The door buzzer rang, startling 2D, and he glanced down to where Angel had been standing. He must have spaced out. He hurried downstairs, not wanting Angel to be stranded outside in the cold much longer, wondering if Murdoc had even had the kindness or presence of mind to give her a key and she was locked-out.

"Come'n!" he called when the buzzer came again, and pulled the door open with a crooked smile.

His heart stopped, hands falling to his sides as the door was shoved open and an all-too familiar figure came sauntering in, the handle smashing into a deep groove in the wall as he made his dramatic entrance.

"I make a rich woman beg, and make a good woman steal, I make an old woman blush, and I make a young girl squeal. I'm here to tell you honey, _I'm bad to the booooone!_"

Murdoc looked up, and his lips curled up in a sneer.

"Oh, Christ, 's jus' you, Two Dents. Long time, no see, eh twerp?"

"M-Muh-doc…I 'fought…I 'fought you were stuck at the airport…"

He shook with a chuckle.

"Heh-heh, you shouldn't be surprised by my ability to git 'round 'nymore, 2D," he drawled. "There're plenty 'f women with cars willing ta give a stranded, yet ruggedly good-looking stranger a lift, heh…"

"Yer drunk 'gain," 2D observed.

"When am I not?"

The boy didn't say a word; that was true. Murdoc's face fell all of a sudden, and he reached into his coat for something.

"Now, you're not the one I was lookin' fer. Where's Ange'?"

2D stammered, finding himself suddenly.

"Out. She's out—"

"_OUT?_" he bellowed, the cigarette he'd raised to his mouth falling out in his outburst. "She's feckin' doin' a walk-about-town, an' I hafta_ crawl_ my way home?" His knuckles rippled as he clenched both fists, turning away from the door. "Oooh, she's gonna get her's I swear ta Satan, she's the biggest pain in my ass."

2D swallowed—what had he just done? He straightened up like a board, shuddering as he felt the door open against his back, and he leaned against it the throw it shut, locking it tight. He couldn't let her in now when Murdoc seemed to be ready to go on the war path. He spun around, glaring at 2D with narrowed eyes.

"What wassat?"

"Ugh, d-door's jammed."

His lip twitched.

"And she's slacking! Fix the goddamn door, Ange'," he muttered to no one.

The knob rattled with her desperate attempts to get inside, which made Murdoc even angrier.

"_What_ in the fuck are you doing, 'D?"

"U-uh…r-rattle'n the door, wassit look like?" he snapped, knees shaking. Oh god, what in the hell was he doing?

The man's eyes widened, looking 2D up and down before slipping the cigarette back into his mouth.

"Cripes, you've turned into quite the creep on yer little vacation, haven' you…?"

He swallowed.

Angel banged on the door, shaking the knob until she thought it would pop clean off, yelling for 2D to open the door. She hadn't locked it when she went out… She glanced up at the windows, glancing at each one to see if she could spot the spindly man through one of them, but most of them were covered in plastic, making it impossible to see anything clearly through them. There were a few more doors she could try…

The hallways lit up with blinding white surges as Murdoc flicked every light switch he passed, snorting to him, grumbling under his breath. But suddenly, he stopped, fingers hanging in the air above a switch, and turned to the man following anxiously behind him. 2D's heart fell into his stomach—his eyes were hard and cold.

"Why the hell are you here anyway, Two Dents?" he growled defensively.

"Wha?"

Murdoc took a step towards him, face growing dark as his mind worked.

"What were you doing here when I wasn't? You moved out."

"C-came ta see 'f Ange was still about," he lied, knowing it would anger him, but he wanted that. He wanted to see him flustered and frustrated. The few, rare times he was able to create any sort of unfavorable emotion in the bass player made him feel on top, in control for once. A tiny smug grin played on his tight lips as he spoke. "She made me dinner, 'cuz you weren't there ta eat it."

But the comments didn't fluster him, like 2D anticipated.

It enraged him.

The room spun as he was thrown to the ground, throat crushed under Murdoc's strong arm. Pressure built up in his eyes, his airway cut off almost entirely, an already developing headache surging into unbearable pain. He screamed, but Murdoc didn't care, didn't hear, didn't feel; his eyes were on fire and burned 2D's brain. His hair bristled, teeth bared, a wolf punishing an omega in his pack for insolence against the alpha. The heel of his boot ground into the boy's skeletal hands, grinding bone into the tiles, his voice low and deadly serious.

"You keep yer 'ands off 'er. She ain't yours," he snarled.

"Sh-she ain't yours either, Muds!" 2D choked out. "She ain't yer…goddamn property, she ain't a toy, this one!"

He yelped, his world shaking helplessly as he was wrung about the neck, Murdoc's hands grasping at the collar of his shirt, rage boiling over.

"What th' fuck do _you_ know abou' 'er! You keep yer retarded mouth _shut_!"

"You don' know anything about 'er! You're just as ignorant wit' 'er as much as all yer other whores!" he screamed, caring less about Angel as he yelled and let Murdoc's self-righteousness rouse his deep-set hatred. He couldn't care less if he beat him, he would heal, he'd get used to the pain. "You think ya know people, but ya couldn't keep a woman 'round 'f you tried wit every ounce 'f yer ego! Yer disgusting!"

He threw 2D on his stomach, crushing into his spine with his knee, drawing a pained yell from him as he put all of his weight onto the body under him and grabbed onto a chunk of blue hair to force his head backwards to look at him. He drew his lips back into a sneer.

"You pathetic, waste-of-space, ass-backwards, wanking son-of-a-bitch, I've pleased hundreds more women than you in the time it took you ta find yer own dick! You've got a pretty face, but I've got the balls ta get the woman I want, not snivel in a corner while she's being taken in a bathroom stall by someone much more talented!"

"Don't you fuckin' dare talk 'bout Paula, she was _my girl!_" he shrieked, angry tears bubbling up in the corners of his glassy eyes. He wanted to rip Murdoc apart, wanted to cut his face and tear out his hair.

"Not from my viewpoint," Murdoc growled. "Ange' is _my girl_, got it?"

"I never wanted her in the first place, _you sick fuck_!"

"Then what the hell are you doing wit 'er while I'm not 'ere, eh? You come 'round more than you say? Sneak into Kong an' 'ave yerself a go at Angel while my back's turned? What else do ya do, sleep in ma' trailer?"

"Get the hell off me!" he cried, big tears rolling down his reddening cheeks.

"What does she feel like? Huh? Is she kinky? Tie you up? I bet you'd like that, wouldn't you? Her chest is grade A, isn't it? Isn't her skin soft?"

"Why the hell are you doing this? I 'aven't touched 'er!"

"_So you can't look at her without thinking about me!"_ he bellowed, panting, running out of breath. "I don't want to catch you giving her so as much as a sideways glance or I swear ta God I'll destroy you!"

He eased up, letting the pressure off his back, and in an instant 2D took off down the corridor, not looking back.

Murdoc's chest heaved, eyes wide, adrenaline pulsing through his shaking limbs as he leaned against the wall. He couldn't have 2D around her. He wasn't stupid or naïve—Angel was a sweet girl, and so was 2D. Motherly, responsible; he knew her kind, and he knew from all-too-real experience that they never stuck with him for long. He was too much of a handful, to unpredictable, unwilling to be cared for. But 'D…that type fit him perfectly, like a glove. They gravitated to him, and he made them happy. Made them feel fulfilled in a way he could never imitate.

He laid a hand over his raging heart, trying to soothe it into submission, panting out hot breaths. He was becoming his father, and the idea scared him more than anything in the world. Each and every time he brought a girl home, didn't matter what age, he'd leave her alone for five seconds and Sebastian was on top of her in three. He couldn't count the number of times he'd walked in on it, half of them not consensual, the few times he was forced to watch. Murdoc ran a hand through his hair, fingers shaking. He'd blocked most of it out, but that didn't mean that it was gone, that it didn't happen. He'd be damned if the only stable woman he'd met in years would be taken away from him, again.

Forcing himself to empty his mind, he got to his feet, his joints growing sore, and shuffled his way down the hall, not knowing what to do now that he was alone besides calm himself with a drink.

The sound of rotten wood giving way startled Angel as she scrambled her way in through a window, her fingernails making long rips to slip inside. Not a door unlocked, she couldn't believe it. Nor could she believe that Murdoc would give her a key that only worked for the front door, and not the millions of others. She was soaked from walking through the snow, cold and agitated, and couldn't wait for the day to end, even though it had barely just begun. Some Christmas, she thought, brushing herself off when her damp feet were finally safe on the floor. A stream of vapor escaped from her mouth, and letting her arms rest, she leaned against the window-frame and closed her eyes. She needed something to eat.

"You!"

Angel jumped, heart thrown off-beat at the sudden outburst, and she pulled a muscle glancing over at the source. Her lungs ached at the sight of him.

"M-Murdoc, you're back!"

She tried to smile, but the grin melted into an expressionless, limp frown. His eyes were cold when he looked at her, and it made the hair stand up on her neck and arms. There was something more evil than his usual self in that look.

"You said you were gonna come get me," he muttered, in a way that she couldn't tell if he was amused or pissed off.

"I've been shoveling for two hours, Muds! Give me a break! You're home aren't you?"

It probably wasn't wise to ask how, so she kept quiet about that, waiting for what he had to say and hoping it would reveal his mood. He took long, slow strides towards her, eyes locked on hers, and Angel couldn't help but feel that she was being hunted. Something instinctual told her to run. Taking a test step back, she saw him flinch, and turned to go in the other direction at a swift pace, not quite running. But he certainly was, tearing after her.

"Don' run—!" he called, but Angel got spooked and took off.

"If you're mad about me hanging up, or not kill myself to pick you up, or something stupid, you'd better get over yourself!" she yelled back to him, rounding a corner.

"I ain't mad, wouldjya stop makin' me run?" he coughed out, and Angel stopped instantly.

"…You're not?"

He tackled her, pulling her, shocked, down to the floor. Angel thrashed against the ground, trying to kick Murdoc off, terrified of his tone of voice, but he weighed down on her, clutching her arms together.

"Get the fuck—!" she started, but froze when she finally got a good look at his face. He looked too smug and satisfied to be frightening.

He leaned down, letting her arms go to place his palms on the floor beside her head, lowing himself to her lips to show off a razor-toothed smile.

"I told you I'd fix your situation when I got back, didn't I? Or did you forget already?" he hummed, grinning. "Hnnn, wanna play?"

Angel felt her cheeks flare up, as if she'd been doused with boiling water, her body growing shaky under his. She laughed nervously, feeling foolish that she'd gotten so scared.

"You're drunk," she pointed out, unable to smell anything but the sickly sweet scent of alcohol on his breath.

"Like a fuckin' skunk," he drawled back, smirking. He played with her hair, looping it between his scraggly fingers as he bent down to whisper into her ear, his voice turning low and gravelly. "Do you want to know what I'm gonna do wit' you?"

Her neck craned with the hot breath he blew over her, her core lighting up with fire at his touch, feeling her spine shudder slightly. She wanted to know…

"L-Let me go?" she asked with false aloofness.

He purred low in his lungs, pressing a hand to her cheek to bring her in closer.

"I'm gonna take you down to our little nest downstairs," he started, running his fingernails along her scalp, "And I'm gonna shake _eeeeevery_ last bit of virgin outta ya. How does that sound, Angela?"

She turned her head towards him, leaning in to kiss him, but he moved away playfully, smirking.

"I doubt you could even find the room right now," she said breathlessly, not believing what was happening. The pressure of him on her body made her ablaze with a sudden torrent of lust that was unlike her—she wanted exactly what he whispered to her, and more. She wanted him in the worst way and couldn't bear the thought of stopping herself, but she kept him at a distance with excuses.

"Besi—i—!"

Tactlessly, he forced a hand into her jeans; her breath hitched in her throat, eyes dilating. His mouth curved into a feral smile as he felt at the hem of her panties, moving too quickly for comfort downwards.

"M-Murdoc…" she muttered, too shocked and pleased to know what else to say or do; she was trapped in her mind, watching the scene play out in third-person.

Licking his lips, he began to move her underwear aside with one finger, sliding another against her bare skin. This was his—this girl was his, not 2D's, not anyone else's, and the idea that no one had taken her before made his mind wild with satisfaction and pride. That honor alone would be his, and he'd be damned if anyone took it before him.

"Tell me, Ange'," he grunted, "do the collars match the cuffs? Heh-heh…"

"Th-that would be for you to find out, wouldn't it?" she trembled, mentally suffering with each new sensation he brought from pressing his nails against the crook of her thighs, not wanting believe it was him causing those teasing touches. She was so stupid. She could see this all playing out badly in her mind, but didn't want to think about that, only about what was happening, what could happen.

He brought Angel's spine into an unconscious arc as he positioned his index finger over her opening, practically purring with satisfaction and lust.

"Moving too fast for you, Ange'?" Murdoc mumbled, and abandoned her pants to shove her shirt up to her neck, not asking or waiting to be asked, and forced it off of her.

He wrapped an arm around her torso, bringing her in close to him, and, eyes half closed in an alcoholic trance and wanting, bit at her neck with his monstrous teeth, skimming her skin with nips that threatened to pierce through to her veins. Angel huffed in surprise, struggling, however weakly, against him, but at the same time her hands found the bottom of his shirt and began slinking it upwards. She relished the warmth that radiated off his back, the odd smoothness in comparison to his calloused hands, feeling his backbone like broken jigsaw pieces all the way up to the base of his neck until the black turtle-neck slid off over his head.

She jumped when he growled into her skin, "Let's do it here."

"H-here?" she stuttered, watching as he unbuckled his belt with striking eagerness, his tongue hanging out of his mouth like a dog. "H-hold on!" she yelped, trying to get a hold of his hands to stop him, eyebrows furrowing. "I never signed-up for that!"

His face was an inch from hers in an instant, making her swallow dryly.

"So you don't want it, hnn-hnnn?" he asked coyly, tilting his head to one side. "Ooooh no, dearie, no, no, you're breakin' mah _heaaaaart_. Listen!" He snatched up her hand and pressed it ferverently to his chest. "You feel tha'? My cold, black heart's dryn' up an' pieces are fallin' off into my stomach, an' all that…" He chuckled, and Angel couldn't help but give him a crooked smile in spite of herself. "Let this old man have one last pleasure in this world before he dies of heartache."

"You've got quite a bit of life in you for an old man," she muttered, sitting up to rest her head against his chest, listening to his pulse.

He quivered slightly, unsure of what was going on. Eyes closed, she listened to the steady thumping, feeling along the base of his spine.

"You're warm," she sighed, pressing to him harder, and he shivered.

"Warmer 'f you shuck off those clothes, dear," he moaned sleepily as her fingers drew light patterns across his olive skin, coaxing goose-bumps to the surface, "an' let me in."

He could feel his head suddenly begin to swim, a curtain being drawn over his mind, and he struggled against it, knowing what was happening to him, cursing himself for having that one last bottle of vodka in the kitchen…

"Fuck…" he hummed, almost too quietly to be heard, and felt his eyelids droop.

"I haven't done this before," she spoke to his chest, not wanting to look up and see his face now. "...It doesn't mean anything to you, anyway."

He was silent then, and Angel didn't have the courage to look up and see what expression was on his face. She kept tracing designs on his back. But the longer he stayed quiet, the more worry began to gnaw at her until her eyes darted upwards. She scoffed.

He'd passed out sitting up—eyes closed, mouth open as he breathed deeply. Slipping out from under him, Angel laid him down on the cold floor, staring at him, the nagging between her legs refusing to die down.

"I'd only disappoint you anyway, wouldn't I?" she mumbled frankly, rubbing the back of her hand against the black fuzz on his stomach. "I wouldn't know what the hell I was doing."

The feeling of his body, felt so strange, as if he wasn't real. She crouched over him, pulling her hair behind her ear. The fire inside her lit up as she ran her hands over his bare chest, then down his tattooed arms. He certainly wasn't the pinnacle of beauty, then again neither was she, but he was perfect in his own sense. Imperfect. Her fingers laced up into his hair, revealing a face that, had she not known him, she would have mistaken for angelic; demonic seemed to fit better, though. His eyebrows crinkled at her touch, eyes darting around beneath sealed eyelids, flicking about in a dream. She bit her lip and stole a glance behind her. He was unconscious, what would be the harm in…looking around a bit?

With nervous, clumsy fingers, she unfastened the button of his black jeans, mind working on instinct, though she felt awkward and guilty. Pink peeked out from the fly, eliciting a tiny, uncharacteristic giggle from the girl, as she drew the flaps away to reveal the rose briefs that clung taught to his skin, tight across his member, still aroused. Somewhat entranced, her fingers reached out on their own, stroking him lightly through the fabric. But as gentle as the touch was, a sudden, grunted "_Ooooh_…" spilled from his lips, shocking her heart into a dangerous, mad pulse. Her face flushed; suddenly it felt as if she were under the scrutiny of a thousand spectators sitting behind her, watching her every move like it was a game or a test. What was she planning on doing?

She zipped him back up, cheeks burning. Oh, she'd liked that moan too much to sit comfortably with her, and with urgency to stomp out the need to wake him up and let him take her, Angel hurried to pull her shirt back on, shivering against the chill that forever hung over the studio. She tied his shirt secure around her waist, but before pulling him up onto her back, a heavy burden despite how scrawny he was, she took advantage of his unconsciousness one more time and kissed his loose lips, deep and long, and with a tenderness she didn't dare convey while he was awake, for it gave away how closely she held that man to her heart.

Angel hoisted him onto her back, nearly toppling over, and began her slow, silent walk back to the bedroom for him to drift off into a sleep she hoped would last forever. She had work to do…


	34. Chapter 34 Good Tidings

**Chapter XXXIV: The House Always Wins**

Murdoc barely had the strength in his body to open his eyes. Holding his head, he wasn't aware he was awake until he went tumbling, head over heels to the floor and banged his skull soundly off the floor. The room was so foggy, and in a panic that his body was unable to reflect, he worried for a moment if the studio was on fire. He laid, sprawled out like a dying bird, flapping against the ground, until his vision cleared and he got a grip on himself. Using the mattress for support, the man pulled himself onto his haunches, smirking a wide, toothy, stupid grin. Oh yeah, Angel and he…

His eyes went wide, and making sort of a half grunt, half yelp, he turned to see that the bed was empty.

The pattering of his bare feet against the floor echoed through the hallways, his mind racing much faster than his legs could carry him. What day was it? Had he lost his chance? Was 2D still skulking around unsupervised? 2D…

He poked his head into each room, growing ever more worried as he realized that he could find neither one or the other, making the chances of them being together much, much higher. His eyebrows furrowed—where the hell did she run off to? Nose first, he glanced into the studio, and his jaw hit the floor. The heater was going full-blast, _his_ heater, and there was Angel, sitting ever-so sloppily on the couch in a pair of beat-up shorts and tank top, hair pinned up lazily, with 2D leaning into her lap, head turned all the way to the ground as she trimmed his hair. He was breathless—that was the same place she'd cut _his_ hair! Her head bobbed gently from side to side as she mouthed the words to Queen's 'Killer Queen' as it pumped from the speakers, 2D's eyes closed in enjoyment of getting groomed up. Murdoc ground his teeth together—apparently he had a death wish.

"Do I have to take a number?" he seethed, slipping inside.

Angel glanced over at him, smiling softly, and took another lock of hair into her fingers.

"I think I can pencil you in."

His eyes shot down to 2D, and he expected him to shrink under his gaze, but the most he did was twitch. Murdoc was a little aghast that he didn't even move to go, even after his point had been beaten into him not to see Angel alone, but all at once it became too clear—Angel was looking at him too, just staring one of those smug stares that challenged him to do something. That 2D was a gossip…

Murdoc sat right beside the girl, close enough so that his leg brushed against the singer's back, his foot itching to give him a good kick right to the head, but he stuck to giving him death glares from behind. 2D shuddered inwardly. He was relatively safe while Angel was around, in fact—ironically, that was probably the safest person he could be with then—but afterwards was the time he feared.

"I thought I just gave you a trim a few weeks ago?" she piped up suddenly, startling Muds.

" 'S too long," he muttered simply. "You should shave it all off 'im."

2D went stiff, hoping Angel wasn't under his control. She snorted, taking a little more off the side.

"Maybe I should shave _you_ down."

Murdoc's lip went up in a deep-set sneer, and he couldn't hide his obvious discomfort. Just as he opened his mouth to say something, the breath got caught in his throat when he saw Angel's bare leg slide down over 2D's arm so that she could reach the front of his hair, and his face lit up with anger. She leaned over his shoulders, her chest ever-so-slightly brushing against his skull, and 2D's eyebrow twitched.

"Don't get all porno on me, j'est 'cause I shook 'D 'round a little bit!" he suddenly snapped, hands clenched up into fists.

Angel's brow pulled together, her expression one of complete deadpan confusion. The boy under her trembled slightly.

"…Don't get all porno on me when you're having a pissing contest," she retaliated, staring at him harshly.

He was flabbergasted.

"Wha—what do you mean?" he asked innocently.

"I mean shoving your hand up my pants when you thinks someone stomping around in your territory. I'm not your girlfriend or…whatever you call the pets you keep."

She returned to trimming off teal snippets of hair, which fell like leaves onto the towel wrapped about 2D's neck. He trembled again. Murdoc seemed at a bit of a loss for words.

"Th-that had absolutely nothing to do with _that!_ I told you I was gonna fix you up when I got back, I was fulfilling a promise!" he quipped, then added somewhat snidely and quietly, "An' whaddya mean not my girlfriend?"

"As in, you never asked, so therefore I am your nothing," she said, running her fingers through familiar blue locks. "I might as well be your fish, as far as you're concerned."

He ground his teeth—how rude and stubborn and so like himself. No wonder no one wanted his company. She didn't say another word to him, but smiled and brushed the hair from 2D's neck and told him he was finished and to look into a mirror and tell her if it was alright. Murdoc mouthed her words sarcastically, warping his face into mocking expressions until he felt her foot nudge him towards her.

"Now, are you next or what?" she said without animosity, as if nothing out of the ordinary had happened.

Suspiciously, he scooted over, and watched her out of the corners if his eyes as she shook out the navy towel over the rubbish bin, and then tucked it in around his neck, the scissors balanced in her mouth. Great, he thought, an aggravated woman witch a pair of clippers, but he made no sign of protesting as she raked her fingers through his thick hair to comb it out. His eyelids drooped—scratching someone's scalp was like scratching behind a dog's ear, ecstasy when you hit just the right place. 2D sat across the room, chin on his knees, arms crossed over his legs, and he didn't take his eyes off Murdoc. The black-haired man's lids flicked open suddenly, and he could read the silent words on Murdoc's lips, "I'm gonna kill you." He shivered, and the tremor didn't escape Angel's keen eyes.

"Play nice," she mumbled, drawing a portion of hair between her two fingers, sizing it up.

Murdoc relaxed down to rest his neck against the couch, leaning forward as she made the first cut. They remained eerily silent, both men locked in a glare that Angel brushed off and kept fiddling with the ebony hair that flopped in all sorts of directions. But as 2D considered the idea of packing up and leaving Kong as soon as Murdoc had his head turned, and Murdoc thought of how to best trap and torture the singer, Angel thought quietly to herself how much more pleasant this could have been if they would have just relaxed. She stroked the back of his neck with the tips of each finger, hoping it would soothe him, never breaking too long from her work.

"2D, could you get me a damp paper towel?" she asked suddenly, wiping the edges of the blades on her top.

He glanced up with a start, but nodded shortly and scrambled to his feet, relieved to be allowed out of Murdoc's gaze. The bassist scoffed as soon as the door was shut.

"What, now you're disgusted by me, 's'at it?" he spat.

"No," she replied, fluffing his hair with rough shakes. "I think you're being immature."

That amused him enough to laugh. He was a little comforted to hear her usual "I'm-the-boss" tone, though he refused to believe he was.

"_I'm_ immature? This coming from, what, an eleven-year-old?"

"An eleven-year-old that doesn't take out their sexual frustration on whoever _happens_ to be around at the time," she clarified.

He was quiet a minute, and, as she paused to clean the flecks of bristles from his ears, said, almost obnoxiously,

"I never meant that I thought you were my girlfriend."

"I know." She bent down to pick up a stray bunch of hair, but stopped a moment to linger by his ear lobe and breathe gently into it, making his neck bend slightly towards her. "But that doesn't mean I can't try out for the position, right?"

Butterflies made of iron banged relentlessly against her stomach when he turned to look at her, his eyebrows cocked, and the corner of her mouth suggested a tiny smile. That didn't exactly come out the way she wanted it to, but there was no use in holding up a thin, unbelievable ruse now when he knew how much she longed to be around him, to be in the bubble of self-confidence that constantly floated around him. Maybe it had made her a little bolder as well.

"Hn, good luck with that, love," he mumbled, resting his head against her pelvis. "Yer on a long waiting list."

"Then I'll have to wait my turn," she said, straightening up, fixing up the back to his preference, "and so will you."

He turned again, nearly causing her to take off a large, unintentional chunk in the process.

"Whadda' you mean by that?"

2D creaked the door open a bit to test the waters, then slunk in with paper towel in hand. Angel took the towel, smiling a 'thank you', and brushed away the tiny leavings of the trim gently. Murdoc looked pensive which allowed 2D to settle quietly against the opposite wall. When Muds was thinking, thinking about something important, that is, he got the same look on his face—eyes barrowed, brow drawn up, lips curled slightly as if he'd just discovered something distasteful on his shoe—and 2D knew he was safe for the time being. He usually stayed like that for a good while.

Angel set her scissors down on the arm of the couch, rubbing her sore neck, and told him he was finished, but he only responded with a curt nod. Her eyes felt heavy, and with the comforting heat that filled the room—which was her only Christmas present this year, and the haircuts had been the only ones she'd given—she felt like going to sleep. Curling up on the cream leather sofa, her fingers ran through the ebony locks a few more times. 2D saw her begin to drift, and suddenly felt the Sandman's dust creep over him in a cloud, and his eyes glassed over. He felt so bruised and injured and tired, and an early sleep didn't seem like a terrible idea. He rested his cheek against his knee, tucking the rest of his face against each shoulder, hugging his legs together, and distantly watched Angel scratch Murdoc's head, her eyes closed.

He wished he could sleep on the couch with her like he'd done when Noodle was still around—being curled up like cubs in their den made 2D feel secure. But he knew much better than that, knowing what kind of message it would send, for Murdoc had never really grasped the idea of physical displays of affection towards women without having a sexual relationship.

When the feeling of Angel's nail scraping lightly over his scalp left him, Murdoc was suddenly aware that she was asleep, and glanced up, finding that 2D had followed suit. The world was suddenly very quiet, and he felt very much alone. 'Merry Christmas', he thought to himself, a phrase that hadn't been said to him once today. If there was a party going on like every year, there would be too much going on to think of others, let alone himself, but now that was all that occupied him. He was a fool to have drank that much—had he been just a little more clear-headed, he would have had his mind busy on other things, and would have had a warm bedmate for the night…

A finger that brushed the base of his neck made him jump, Angel's hand falling downwards across his chest. She made a quiet sleep-whimper, and tucked her face into the back of his head, taking a deep breath through her mouth. He glanced at her blank face, and without bothering to take care not to wake her, pushed her back, deeper into the couch, and crouched over her. Her lids twitched, scrunching up in discomfort. Her lashes flicked, and staring bleary-eyes up at him, she felt his finger slip under her chin, knuckles pressing into her flesh. Sleepily, she stumbled for words that were smashed out with a rough kiss, his tongue sliding tactlessly over her sealed lips, searching for a taste of something sweet, urging a weak gasp to flutter out. He felt her flushed lips part against him, and slid his serpentine tongue against the inside of her cheek, his fingers wrapping around her wrists in a firm clamp. Her glassy eyes opened slowly as he pulled away, mind cloudy, fading in and out.

The pressure of his body, his scent, it calmed her into submission, and with a mind all-too eager to please him, she pressed each hand to his cheeks, eyebrows furrowing in the desperate sadness and ecstasy that overtook her. Her eyes welled—she knew herself foolish: only someone truly stupid would let themselves be so openly tricked and manipulated by this evil, horrid man, and yet she was clay in his warm hands. His flaws endeared her, made Angel that much more determined to stay beside him, to stand beside that glowing ego and confidence that gave off sunlight in every direction when she got too close and made he feel worth something more than what she was. Her empty shell was filled up with something bright—something that glowed and made her feel wanted for the first time in so long. The fact that he was so seemingly hated by those around him, and yet so willingly accepted at the same time made her want to burrow into him, to see from his eyes, to experience what he experienced, and, however, naive, to protect him in whatever way she could…

Tears wetted her eyes, and her heart broke into tiny pieces, because she knew this way the best she would ever get from him: lust, and then neglect.

But the true reason why she could feel her spirit crumbled was that she knew that she would let him…

The hot-blooded pressure of his lips faded away, and flicking her eyes open, she just barely caught sight of him slipping out the studio door. Scrunched up in the corner of the couch, she pressed her forehead into her knees and cried so that no one could see her.

2D stared at the wall, growing cold, and didn't dare turn around as she sobbed, falling asleep only when she'd tired herself to exhaustion.


	35. Chapter 35 Iron Curtain

**Chapter XXXV: Iron Curtain**

Angel sprung awake when she heard the crunch of buckling metal, leaping to her feet. At once, everything was silent, as if the noise had never occurred. But as she listened, heart racing, she heard the low groan of the building above her. She doubted whether or not if she wanted to know what happened, if it would be easier on her mind to crawl back under the warm arms that made sleep come all too easily and ignore it. But she was already pulling Murdoc's brown jacket over her arms.

Hopefully, it was only something outside; maybe something had been knocked something over on the roof? But as she made her slow way up and up the staircase, there was a severe chill in the air, a bitter cold that turned the railing into a bar of ice. She peaked into the third floor. Nothing—undisturbed darkness. A cool wind brushed against the back of her neck, and Angel glanced up, onto the fourth floor landing. There were another two floors upwards, one of which she'd never plucked up the courage to travel to. She glanced into the fourth floor hallway—again, nothing.

But the wind grew colder and fiercer, and when Angel finally reached the next landing, her fears were realized. Snow. It covered the steps in fresh powder, leaving a trail into the hallway. She glanced up. A gaping hole had been ripped down from the ceiling, plaster splattered like blood where the snow piled up and overcame the weak spot of the roof. Wind blew freely through the hole, down the corridor and forced the stairway door ajar, flapping like a desperate bird trying to escape. Angel nearly fell to her knees. That was it—Kong was finished. Murdoc could bring in the best contractor and carpenter in the world, but this building had been dealt a fatal blow, and Angel felt helpless. It was like watching an injured animal die, and there was nothing to be done. The wood was rotting away, the studio was slowly but surely falling in on itself, and each creak or the metalwork made Angel cringe and prepare for it all to fall down on her. She no longer felt safe in the place that had become her haven. The ease of breaking into the grounds now was only second in her mind to the ease of bringing the whole thing down.

She barely heard the tip-tapping of feet as she rubbed her face in her palms in denial, not wanting to see her hard work beginning to dissolve. The footsteps stopped right behind her.

"Ange', you hurt?" 2D asked, crouching down, fearful that she'd been stuck with the debris. He reached out tentatively, only to be smacked away by Murdoc's paw.

"What the 'ell happened?" he yelled.

Angel just sat there on her rump, hands in her lap, staring at the mess. He grunted and leaned down, tilting her face up, turning it this way and that, looking meticulously for a gash or a cut. Angel avoided his eyes.

"…Yer fine. Come on, get up."

She didn't answer.

"It's gone. What going to happen now?" she asked distantly.

He clicked his tongue, pulling on her arm.

"Come on, 'f ya stay 'ere, yer really gonna have a hefty bump on yer head." The ceiling groaned overhead, making 2D anxious and jumpy. "Ange', dun' be difficult."

Wavering for a minute, waiting for her to get up, he groaned and leaned down and took her torso over his shoulder, lifting her up. The burden made him nearly topple over—she was a heavy girl. 2D wrung his hands, peering up at the girl as she passed, and followed quickly behind, plaster raining steadily down from the ceiling.

There was a heavy silence that fell over Kong that day; an overwhelming, suffocating, quiet that kept all conversations hushed and short, as if the building would come down on their heads if they spoke any louder. Angel stayed rooted to the couch in the studio, playing the worn-down sitar aimlessly, almost badly, moving her fingers more as if she were tapping her nails nervously on a tabletop rather than playing a song. Her single suitcase sat beside her, sadly, and she waited with a clenched chest for the other two to be finished packing.

They were leaving Kong.

Murdoc said it was a waste to invest any more money in a house that was tearing itself down anyway, that they'd have to pack it up and move on out before the rest of the building followed the roof. She felt smaller than ever before—that meant all her hard work, all the abandonment of her music, was for nothing. Her foot tapped nervously.

Now what? Where was she to go? She had no more money, she knew no one but Mr. D (did he have any last name at all?) and , and that wasn't going to get her very far…She could beg Murdoc for a loan, she supposed, since she had no citizenship to go to a bank for one, a hitch a plane back home. The fact that her time with that man was quickly running through her fingers was a thought she kept smashed into the back of her mind.

What if she never saw him again? She was just another girl, after all, and the fact that she hadn't even gotten what all of his girls got—a hot and heavy shag in the trailer—made her bitter, though she didn't want to admit it to herself. They were more like 'kissing cousins', she sneered, and that irked her. Her lips parted,

'_A virgin,_

_Shoulder to shoulder in blue._

_She clasps her hands_

_On a cross that bleeds._

_Upside-down,_

_Married to herself.'_

The tinny sound of the instrument vibrated through her fingertips, and she tapped her shoe's heel against the cream carpet impatiently.

The door opened in a rush, startling her, and 2D poked his head in.

"Muhdoc says 'e 'as somefin for ya," he said quietly, " 'E wans'ta meet you in the lobby."

"…Kay," she said as he disappeared, closing the door gently.

Angel glanced down at the sitar; she wondered if Murdoc would let her keep it if she asked. She couldn't exactly see him playing it often, if at all. Slipping the thick woven strap over her shoulder, she took the suitcase in one hand and zipped her jacket all the way with the other. Technically is was Murdoc's coat but she hoped he wouldn't bring that up. She wanted one piece of him, one little, insignificant piece. Her chest shriveled up, clasping her heart so tightly that she felt as if it would stop.

Her boots thumped mutedly down the cement hallway, ten times slower than her heartbeat. What did he want to give her? She glanced up, and nearly yelped when she saw him standing by the door; no bags, dressed unusually dapper (for him) in a black peacoat, his skull broach nestled into an ebony scarf. He stared at her, silent, and with an expression that was impossible to read. That made her anxious. His lips curled downwards into a slight frown, just slight enough not to be negative, but certainly not a smile.

He wasn't feeling much calmer, bouncing his right leg as he watched her draw closer. He'd been thinking long and hard about what to do with her, and with a lump in his throat growing bigger by the moment, he cleared his throat.

He wasn't ready to give her up, not _just_ yet. She was still what intrigued him—someone who offered him some strange solace, some kind of calming spirit who, after all he'd done to her, still was as eager to work and please him as they day she returned to Kong. If he just let her go, that would mean giving up someone that may be valuable down the road, someone he might be able to depend on when all others shut the door in his face when he really fucked up, someone…that elicited affection from his black heart. He rubbed his hands together. There was room in his apartment for one more…

" Ange'," he said, clearing his throat again, "Seeing that we're leavin' some things behind, an' I don't 'ave room for them all righ' now, I was gonna lend ya one 'f the bikes in the Carpark." Her eyes lit up temporarily, mouth opening slightly as he reached into his pocket and tossed her the key with the iron skull keychain. He smirked. "Thought it would help you get around, love. Can't have you wandering through the streets on foot alone at nigh', right?"

Her chest fluttered, but her stomach ached, and she felt sick. The Indian. But of course, that was a parting present, wasn't it? Pressure built in her eyes, threatening to show her degree of heart break, threatening to show how weak she truly was inside, how naive that she thought they could last forever in this place, together. Her shoulders shook in effort. She nodded, biting her lip slightly.

"Thank you ," she managed, smiling, "That's really, really sweet of you…I-I'll get it back to you once I go back to North Carolina. I'll get it back to you."

He was silent for a moment, then, mustering up the pride and confidence to ask, opened his mouth, only to be cut off suddenly by 2D, who limped in, shouldering a heavy bag.

"Got everythin' ya need, Angela?" he asked, smiling mutedly, wanting to get out of Kong as quickly as possible in order to avoid another beating that seemed all-too ready to come from the bassist, with that look he was giving him, his eyes fiery and hard.

Angel rose her head with a start. As if blinders had fallen over her brain, her mind began to slow down, and shut out the reality of everything around her, making it hard to focus. She barely heard 2D when he asked again.

"Yeah, I just need to, uh, go down and get the bike from the lot. I'll ride it to Trent tonight and see if my apartment is still available."

Murdoc's face flushed, mouth hanging open slightly, and before he could rush to finish his offer, 2D piped up,

"Didn' ya say tha' place was a hellhole?" he asked, remembering her talking about it so colorfully over last night's dinner.

"It'll do until I get home." She waivered, then added, "To the States."

Kong was her home.

2D leaned on one foot, then the other, obviously missing Murdoc's overwhelming expression of 'get-the-hell-out-of-here', including a scowl which integrated every muscle of his face.

"W-well, 'f ya really haf' nowhere else ta go, I've still got tha' pad up in Colchester, 'f ya need a place to rest yer head tonigh'. I won't bother ya, I swear! I can clear off th' couch an' all."

She lifted her head slightly, feeling a tinge of hope in her tightly clenched chest, her grip relaxing on the iron skull, which had worn a deep impression on her skin.

"Are you serious?"

" 'F it'd help ya."

A sharp knife cut down through Murdoc's middle, tearing his torso apart into little black shreds. His eyes widened, lungs unable to draw a deep breath. No…For Satan's sake this blue-haired twat...His long claws dug into his palm, unable to deny his body urge to hurt something terribly, even if it was himself. His teeth ground together so sharply, so gratingly that the sound resembled chalk scraping heavily against a chalkboard. He didn't hear the rest of what the two said to one another, but stared at the floor, chest rising and falling with short breaths taken fiercely through his nose. Had the girl not been between him and the singer, he would have cracked his skull open on the floor like a raw egg, and smear his brains—if he had any—up and down the walls. The idea of mutilating him was so tempting, to crack each rib under his iron-plated boots until he could no longer breathe…

"Where are you going, Murdoc?" he suddenly heard, as if he was breaching the surface of deafening water. He looked up at her, silent, through narrowed eyes. "Do you have somewhere to go?"

She sounded hopeful. "Backstabber," he nearly said, but bit it back, and spat out,

"I've got my own plans. Worry 'bout yerself." He moved past her swiftly, knocking into her arm, calling over his shoulder, "You'd better stick with Face Ache. He makes 'is fair share 'a girls squeak, I'm sure he'd get you off 'f ya asked 'im real nice-like!"

Her eyebrows furrowed, shoulders flinching as the stairway door shut, gutted from the inside out. 2D recoiled, a careless rabbit who only just realized how narrowly he escaped the rattlesnake's bite. His hands shook; he didn't intend to say that so suddenly, with him around, but he pitied the girl…He glanced over at her, wringing his hands together. He expected her to go running after the bassist, dive down into the Carpark and grovel, but she only turned and picked up her suitcase again, face blank.

"Are you ready to go, 'D?" she asked calmly, quietly.

"Y-yeah. Do ya want ta go get the motor—"

"I'll pick it up another time," she cut him off, "I'll just go back the way you came."

Angel led the way towards the front door, pulling the strap of the sitar zipped up in its deep blue fabric case higher onto her back, rearranging herself nervously. 2D wondered if there was anything he should say, but he was never any good at trying to console anyone, not even himself.

So this was how she was leaving Kong, she thought, floating without direction, not seeing where she was going, but moving methodically towards where her body felt the door was. Scorned. It made sense, of course, every time she left somewhere, she felt as if she left something important behind. This time, it just happened to be her happiness. It felt right, though, in a sick way, to leave her innards on the floor behind her and move on a husk, unable to feel anything but the emptiness of the space around her.

Her head snapped up suddenly, and she dropped her things on the front step, doubling back to rush upstairs. She'd forgotten one thing.

Pushing a few boxes aside, Angel made her way to the closet in Russel's room, and for the first time in a few days, took up the blue dress Murdoc had given her in her hands, pressing it to her chest. How could she let this go? The only physical token of his kindness, the last remaining shred of affection he'd shown to her…The only thing she could take with her and think of him, and not think of how she'd seen him last—full of anger and hateful.

It still smelled like perfume, and she hugged it close, the feeling of silk running over her bare hands like air, forcing her to crouch down and just touch it for a moment, letting everything suddenly sink in, and without warning, began to cry. Not silent, like the previous night, now it came unabashed, loud, red-faced, ugly crying, rubbing her nose against the sleeve of her shirt. She couldn't seem to help it, and in frustration, gripped the dress hard, as if it would help her in some way.

"I lost my chance!" she choked out, body shaking roughly, calling out to no one. "Wh-what am I so stupid for? So stupid…" she sobbed, rocking to and fro on her heels. "Idiot, idiot! You stupid….gah-god what's wrong with me?"

The floorboards creaked behind her, and she turned, big tears rolling down her face, eyes wide in terror. He walked forwards from the doorway, black boots making a soft noise against the carpet, but stopped just short of the girl, looking down at her. Angel rubbed her eyes quickly with the back of her wrist, unable to bear the thought of being seen so much out of control, so childish, but he seized her arm swiftly.

"What're you cryin' about, love?"

She rubbed her lids dry, defiantly, against her shoulder, and cleared her throat of the thick coat of mucus that had collected from her sobs.

"I'm just tired," she lied, getting to her feet. "It's just…getting to me."

Murdoc made a tiny scowl at the corner of his mouth, but said nothing.

"Sorry I couldn't fix your studio up," she continued, giggling that tiny little laugh people used as a filler when they got nervous. She started blinking back the glaze filming over each eye that made more tears slip out and roll into the crevice of her sockets. "I wish I could have been more help, but uh…yeah, sorry."

"Ange'," he said firmly. "Let yerself go just once, ya stupid bint."

"Thanks for helping me, really. I'm grateful. I'll pay it back to you somehow." She withdrew her hand from his grasp unkindly, wrenching away with a sudden pull, and smiled weakly, barely hanging on to whatever emotional sanity she had left. "Bye, Murdoc," Angel said, and strode quickly to the door, only to be grabbed again.

He snatched her by both wrists, wrestling with her to stay still enough to look her in the eye. Throwing her up against the wall with a sudden burst of energy, he ran his hand up her back, nails grazing her spine, each nerve ending brushed with a dangerous touch. She quivered, thighs aching. His eyes were hard, cold, and stared directly into her skull.

"Do act like yer so innocent," his eyes narrowed, lips curled up. "I know exactly what you want from me…Don't go running ta 'D, love, he's table scraps compared ta me."

His tone of voice irked her; so arrogant. She scoffed, weakly and half-heartedly, but she somehow managed to choke her gasps down as his nails traced patterns into her goose-pimpled skin. He leaned in.

"Give me one good time ta remember ya by, Ange', 'f ya don't want ta stick around."

"Get off—" she half moaned, but he snapped, voice firm.

"_Don't give me that!_ What the fuck 's wrong with ya? It's fucking obvious! Yer not hidin' anythin', yer as open as a goddamn book. So just screw me and get it over with!"

Her eyes shrunk back into her skull, her entire body flinching at his rage. Murdoc panted slightly, chest rising and falling in deep, long movements, the black fabric bending over his lanky features invitingly. Her mouth opened, but no words came out. His face pursed up in mock distress.

"What, little Angela can't stoop to my fucking level? Too good fer me? What? What the hell is it that you think yer so 'holier-than-thou', madam, hm?"

"You're…hurting me," she winced, shifting her wrists as he nails sunk into her back, leaving deep grooves that were growing deeper.

"What?"

"You're hurting me you bastard!"

His grip let up, ever-so-slightly, but he didn't back away, pressing himself entire up against her, measuring up to her with his boots, every limb lining up perfectly. Her legs surged at the firmness that pressed into her lap, knees buckling with the bittersweet pressure.

"Murdoc, I don't know you," she pleaded, shaking her head.

"You know me enough," he responded, voice husky, hands sliding downward under the hem of her pants.

"Do you love me?"

The question shocked him into stillness, her eyes probing his face for an answer. Nothing. Not even a flicker of compassion or longing, just confusion.

"I-I…well, in a way…yer very…I like you. Yer a nice gal, yer certainly not what I'm used ta. Yer comforting, real motherly-like. But, I…love, ya know is…"

"No, then..." she mumbled. "Then why the hell should I trust you…"

"You'd enjoy yerself. J'est let yerself go—"

Her shoved into him, snapping.

"And what happens after? _Huh?_ What happens when I want to be with you, and you'd rather be with some whore you met and screwed in an hour? What the _fuck_ am I supposed to do? _Watch?_"

She screamed, face turning and ugly shade of red and near-purple from the strain, tears dripping down her face unintentionally. He gritted his teeth together, lips twitched until he burst out,

"FUCK YOU, you think I dun' have a drop 'a decency in me? I may be a horney bastard, yeah, I've had my fair share of tarts, yeah, I'm a fucking two-timer. But fuck all 'f I wouldn't give ya 'least a little good treatment! I can be selfless when it goddamn suits me! An' 2D—!"

"What the hell does 2D have to do with this?" she hollered, throat running raw. "It's you that seems to get some sick pleasure from putting me with him in your head! Leave the guy alone!"

His head cocked to one side, eye narrowed into slits.

"_DO_ you want him?"

"I want _you_ more than I've ever wanted a man in my goddamn life!"

"Then fucking be with me! I want you! What the hell is wrong with you, are you _that_ cold? For Satan's sake, Ange'!"

"I'm not going to fuck myself up for _you! _I'm not going to let _you_ make me your stupid bimbo that lets you do whatever you'd like without having any concern for me at all! I'm not the kind of girl you want, so just skip to the morning after and LEAVE ME THE HELL ALONE! Just LEAVE me ALONE! Please…" She gasped in hiccups, shoulders trembling, back seizing. "Just leave me alone…"

Fluorescent lights buzzed mutely overhead, the only sound aside from Angel's sharp breaths and tiny choking noises when she couldn't catch her breath. Tears soaked her neck, her throat hot and dry, burning from screaming. Murdoc glanced down to his shoes for a moment, looking less upset and more and more pensive as the silence settled in.

He knew what she thought was the truth. No one had just ever said it so plainly.

Murdoc suddenly looked back up at her, and feeling a twinge in his chest, finally spoke,

"Yeah, you're probably right." But then took a long breath, "But, then again…you migh' not be…But, why take the chance? You obviously know so much…"

When he drew back, letting a gust of air back into Angel's lungs, she felt him slip something into her pocket, looking rather unaffected and distant.

"Anything 'appens, love, ya change yer mind maybe…swing by," he said in a low voice.

Then, giving her one last disapproving look, he slipped out as silently as he'd entered, and left for good.

Eyes spilling over with saline, she sunk to the floor and sobbed, unable to stop, uncaring if he was still lingering outside the door and could hear her. It didn't matter.

Only when her eyes ran dry could she pick herself up and stumble down stairs, forcing a calm face. 2D was still waiting.


	36. Chapter 36 A Moment of Silence

**Chapter XXXVI: A Moment of Silence**

He slammed the door of the Winnebago with such venom that it nearly snapped off the hinges. Wild with anger, veins teeming with the urge to reach out and kill something, he took a glass candle-holder and smashed it into a thousand shards against the wall. Shoulders clenched, drawing his body up into a tight knot, Murdoc held a hand to his heart that beat out of control.

"_Fucking bitch!_"

He panted, chest constricting, unable to catch his breath without screaming out another obscenity, one right after the other.

"Goddamned wanking son-of-a-bitch, _Two Dents!_"

Pulling the cork from a flask, he let the fire water inside slide down and burn his throat, a surge of an artificial calm swimming over him. His legs failed him and with one sway, he fell downwards against the wall, sliding down. A dark chuckle slipped out.

"What'd you expect, Mudsy? Eh? Nice little chat? Heh…heh-heh-heh…You bastard…" His face went serious, and he took another greedy swig. "She's sharp."

He crouched over, leaning heavily downwards in an arc towards his shoes, and breathed deeply. He felt sick…She scared the fuck out of him. When was the last time he'd even bothered to do a kindness for a woman, or anyone, for that matter?

Kindness, for him, was an unnatural occurrence, a twisted version of himself. It pained him a little to give back to a world that hated him, and to people that would eventually turn on him anyway. He liked picking at people; they were interesting little buggers. He liked to spread them open on an operating table and prod at them to see what made them flinch and tick, what made them happy and what made them want to kill themselves. He was good at it too—taking people apart. One of his many odd skills, and the most useful by far.

But a kind act, for little or no personal gain, now that was rare. He only doled them out maybe once a year, and to people he knew wouldn't turn it back on him. It was like finding a pearl in a landfill. It roused a part in him that was unfamiliar, and frightening…His compassion, when it ever reared its head, was often mistaken for a trick, so he was certainly used to people accepting it as just another wicked ploy, a way into their heads. But no one…no one had ever just outright rejected it.

Angel's red-stricken face haunted him, screeching out her hatred into his face. He must have read her wrong…

It was kindness that he tried to give to her, tried to extend and give her a roof over her head, with him, a bed she could share, more adventures they could have. A trip to the beach, since he had promised her he'd take her anywhere when he returned. She was enjoyable, entertaining, dependable. He wanted to keep her, like a pet; to have her and touch her and defile her and love her…Keep her in a jar from everyone else, keep her eyes focused on him, because before long, they would shift away. He was incapable of fidelity, and it screwed him over each time he met a decent woman.

They hated him, women like her. Their love turned to disgust and dread for him each time they learned of the depth of his wickedness, and ended up silently leaving, slipping out with no notice or a word to him.

But her…no matter what he'd done to her, no matter how many times he made it blatantly clear that he was manipulating her, wanted her body, wanted to use her, she didn't leave. She was…unique. Others had believed they could handle him, naively, and ended up warped. Everyone thinks that they can handle a drunk or a player, change them and heal them, make them right. Hardly ever do they succeed, and none had for Murdoc. But she had the will, had the ability to put up with his insanity, to maybe keep a level head on her shoulders when he went into one of his numerous downwards spirals and for once he felt…hopeful. A decent fallback, someone there just in case, someone who would never turn him away no matter what he did…

Letting such a prize fall through his fingers shook him to the core, and it scared him how utterly disappointed and lost he felt now, unable to shake the feeling off with ease like he usually could, let it roll off his back like water.

He fingered the flask, now empty, and stared up at the ceiling, heart drawing up into a tight clench as his greatest fear, the idea that gripped him with an iron fist while he slept and rattled him in his quieter moments, suddenly resurfaced…

What would he do when the day came when he had no one left?


	37. Chapter 37 Summer Wind

**Chapter XXXVII: Summer Wind**

The "pad", as 2D had described it, was even smaller than she had imagined. To put it bluntly, it was no more, really, than a glorified water closet with a wash room. Following 2D inside, stepping carefully over clothes and stray papers, she wondered if there was any furniture in the room at all. The mess was tremendous, covering lumps that she assumed, underneath, were chairs and a sofa. Her lips turned down slightly, unnoticeably as a slight dimple set into each corner of her mouth—she wondered if there was any room for 2D, let alone her, too.

He moved around excitedly, brushing clothes off every surface, drawing the furniture out like buried treasure, mumbling incoherently as he did. Angel set her suitcase down in a bare spot (where she hoped she would find it again) and slid the heavy sitar off her shoulder.

The ride on the subway, or the "metro" as 2D called it, was an interesting one, filled with experiences Angel had never thought she would have. As soon as they stepped out onto the platform, groups of girls began to look their way, giggling, point vaguely towards them as they clustered. Angel rearranged herself, fussing under their gaze and glanced over at 2D, who seemed not to take any notice. She eyed him inconspicuously. She supposed he was good-looking, a little tall for her taste, and his eyes still daunted her when they fell on her for too long and gazed at her glossily. But these girls tittered and preened themselves as if they were in the presence of a prince, which, to the best of her knowledge, he was not.

The situation grew gradually more bizarre when they boarded the train car, the gaggles drawing closer, getting more animated and bothered by his presence until finally one stepped forward tentatively, fingering a camera. They glanced up, and the young teenage girl lost her breath the instant 2D looked at her.

"C-c-could I-I…" she stammered, holding the camera out to Angel shakily.

She took it, staring at the girl's expectant expression and, thoroughly confused, took a picture of the girl, her friends gathered behind her. 2D make a snorting noise through his nose, clapping a hand to his mouth as the girl's face fell. He stood up, placing his palm on Angel's shoulder.

"She wans'ta take a picture wit' me, Ange'," he chuckled, and her face flushed, a feeling of ineptitude and foolishness washing over her. Of course she did, wasn't he famous? Or, at least around here he was…Angel somewhat doubted their popularity despite Murdoc finances, but this…was a whole other level that she certainly wasn't accustomed to.

He wrapped his long, slender arm about her shoulder, and the face she made was one of utter ecstasy Angel took the picture, and as soon as 2D let go of her, the rest of the gaggle, which had grown even bigger, pleaded for pictures too. Angel scowled—what was he, a tourist attraction? Big Ben? But when she looked back at him for an answer, he smiled gently and nodded, allowing them to gather around him like a line of ducklings to their mother, waiting patiently for each to have their turn. She took as many photos as she ever had in her life, and only was able to stop when he glanced up at the stop they were approaching, and said,

"Sorry, girls. 'S my stop," which elicited many groans and sighs from the teenagers.

Angel hurried behind him off the train, gathering herself in a rush to keep up and nearly caught the plush fabric case of the Indian instrument in the door as it slid closed promptly. For a moment, she glanced behind to see all the girls pressed to the windows, waving good-byes to him. She lowered her voice as they went up the stairs, having to hurry to keep up with his long stride.

"Does that happen a lot?"

"Often enough," he answered, reaching into his pocket and withdrawing a pill he'd found in a drawer in his room, and swallowed it dry.

"Doesn't that get…old?"

He smiled softly, looking down at the stairs.

"They mean well," he said, surprising Angel, " 'S the older girls yahafta watch out for. Girls like 'at 'r just tame, shy things. They dun' mean ta be like 'at, ya know?"

She nodded, not really knowing,. The only experience she'd had with anyone you could can a "fan" was back in high school, singing in an old friend's band. She chuckled inwardly—those fans were few and every one of them were head bangers, into nothing more than the sake of attending "underground" or "indie" shows. She touched a hand to her neck unintentionally; she'd run her voice raw with every performance. She wasn't built to sing metal…It sapped her.

2D cleared one last pile off the couch, smiling broadly.

"Sorreh, 'f I knew you were comin' I woulda done this 'fore I left."

She pressed her pink fingers, raw from the cold, to the white radiator, glad that at least the apartment was warm, and shook her head at him.

"No, it's fine, I've seen worse," she lied, and it seemed to relieve him a little.

She walked over to the counter, which she assume was attached to a kitchen, but it looked like very little cooking was ever really done. She glanced at the various empty take-out boxes.

"There's a bathroom down th' hall, there, an' my bedroom. I'll take the couch 'f ya'd—"

"No, the couch is fine. I should only be here for a night or two. No need to take your bed from you."

Angel slipped off her jacket to sit in her jeans and her butter yellow shirt to accommodate to the sudden warmth of the apartment, and found herself staring out the window, looking over the sparse town as night drew it starry blanket over the sky. 2D watched a possession movie behind her, engrossed, hardly blinking, but the gore didn't interest her. She worked the piece of paper Murdoc had slid into her pocket between her fingertips. Every nerve in her body itched, her feet tapping anxiously against the floor, wrists bouncing against the back of the chair she sat in facing the wrong way. It wouldn't be that hard to find the place if she did a little exploration. She cursed herself for not having brought the Indian from Essex.

But, she thought numbly, maybe this was a sign to move on, maybe it was a good thing…She turned to look over her shoulder, and in a soft voice asked,

"2D?" repeating when he didn't answer. "2D?"

"Hmm?" he grunted, not taking his eyes off the screen.

"…Do you think I should go back home? To Carolina?"

" 'F it'll make ya happy," he said in a trance-like state, "Do what makes ya happy. Life's short, ya know…"

She nestled her chin back down into the crooks of her elbows, her warm breath rushing over her fingers, which tingled from the cold of the wood pane. She tapped her knee against the white-painted radiator.

"What if I regret it? What if I can't find my way back if I want to? I have no idea where this place is—"

It took her a moment of silence to realize she was talking to herself, and that 2D couldn't have repeated what she said if his life depended on it. She groaned, and turned to glance, eyes half open, at the mp3 she'd plugged in earlier. She slid the chair across the wood floor, pushing through miniature hills of clothes, and pulled the headphones out of her pocket. She plugged in.

He found herself listening to…herself. The heavy sounds of her old, grating singing voice startled her, like a ghost coming back to haunt her—it unsettled her. It was her band's old album, badly recorded in a cheaply rented studio booth. Nadine's percussion—heavy, deep drums over gentle wind chimes—drove into her skull. She missed her, as she listened, trying to ignore her own growling voice, belting out metal that seemed now so unsuited to her. Her eyes drooped.

She could see Nadine the way Angel had left her—curled up in her lap, sobbing into her thick-fabric coat, which smelled so strongly of menthol cigarettes and incense, missing her mother, lamenting her father. She could feel, sitting there in 2D's apartment, her turquoise blue-painted nails running through her hair, trying her best to comfort her…She had somewhat stepped in for her mother for a time, even though Nadine was only three years her elder, and never turned her away, even after the band drifted apart. She cracked her eyes open, staring out into the deep-purple night sky, dusty with snow-laden clouds, and sighed, fogging up the glass.

"_A succubus in iron boots, I'll destroy you from the outside in, poison your blood with tar, seeping into your bones, riding a pale horse._"

She listened to herself, droning on in a low, scratchy voice that wasn't her own. It felt distant. Alien. She could smell cigarettes again.

2D's sudden appearance beside her made Angel jump, nearly smacking into his face. His eyes were bent down low, and he listened closely to her temple, overhearing the sound spilling form her low-quality headset. His lips were drawn.

"What are you listen' to?" he asked, sounding honestly interested, but he said it in a quiet, muted way, almost in a whisper.

She felt embarrassed for listening to her own band, but handed the device over, letting him scan the music. He looked at the album, then back to her, and squinted.

"I didn't take you fer a metal head."

She smiled an empty smile and took the headphones out of her ears.

"I'm not." Glancing up at him, hoping not to talk about it, she asked, "So, I can sleep on the couch?"

He blanched out for a second, then started back to reality, and nodded.

"Ya can haf' my bed, really ya can," he insisted pleasantly.

She got up, not hearing a word of it, and reached for her bag, pulling out some loose sleep clothes she scrounged up from what was left at Kong, most of which were Russel's and far too big for even her wide waist.

Angel left him sitting on the floor next to the chair, talking to him warmly before leaving to change, and he watched her disappear further into the mess. He glanced down at the music player, and tentatively, plugged himself in, resuming the song.

She stared into her reflection, watching her newly earned dark circles deepen under her lids and stroked her wind burned cheeks. She took on a much more sunken expression to her face, and she looked much older. She felt much older. Not so much in maturity than in years, in the aches and pains that hadn't bothered her, or at least bothered her very little, while she toiled away in Kong but now sunk deep into her joints and bones. Gentle freckles gained from summer and autumn sun finally began to fade from her cheeks, and her face seemed empty—lacking a spark or a glow or even a tiny smile. She rubbed her oiling face on her sleeve and sat down on the closed toilet. It had a blue plush cover that felt so good on her aching hips, that she took her feet out of their hiding place, and scrunched them in between the fibers, pulling her knees up to her chin. She put her hair up messily with a rubber band, letting it fall where it wanted to fall, not bothering to check how it looked, just let it stay where it was, and looked down at the white tile floor.

She wanted to cry.

She wanted to throw a fit like a child and pound on her legs and sob loudly. Sob that it wasn't fair. Not just because her heart ached for a bastard that she hated and dreaded the thought of desiring and loved and wanted, but because she'd lost her sole companion. The one person that had been her only company for so long and whom she'd gotten fond of. She missed his mannerisms, and his quieter moments, and the way he pressed against her in her sleep and rubbed her stomach with a calloused thumb.

But no tears came. Her face only grew a shade redder from the strain her sadness put upon her, and she cradled herself.

Her eyes raised up, and she glanced into the small porcelain tub which, again!, were filled with discarded clothes that 2D most likely just tossed conveniently aside while shaving or washing his face. And, while she stared into the folds, she remembered, when she was young and upset, she would climb into the bathtub with her blanket and curl up, cozy in her own tiny world with the shower curtain drawn so that she was all by herself. She got up from the loo, and stepping across the cold tiles in bare feet, she got into the tub, standing up. Gathering up all the clothes, she made a nest and curled up tightly in the floor of the bathtub, pressing the clothes around her.

They smelt like butterscotch, and she imagined that they also lingered with the scent of summer and spring flowers and her eyes watered. She felt so alone and cold.

She pulled the blue shower curtain to block out some of the light and enveloped herself, feeling sadly at peace, and she closed her trembling, wetting eyes. She covered herself and fell asleep, clutching the hoodie that she wore in her palms, legs sprawled out towards the drain.

It wasn't until 2D realized that the album had run its course and then some that he noticed Angel still hadn't come out of the bathroom. He placed the headphones on the floor and got up, calling to her softly as he walked down the short corridor. He pushed the old-fashioned wooden door open, which never stayed open correctly and hung crooked on the hinge, and peeked inside.

He only lingered for a moment, after drawing the curtain back an inch, then drew it closed again, letting her sleep quietly. He turned off the light as he left, as he turned back, he had the odd urge to light a candle and set it on the floor, so that she'd have just a little light. He returned with a flashlight and tucker it under her elbow, switching it on so that it lit up the clothes and the bathtub, glowing a gentle white.

He smiled crookedly, feeling kindred towards this woman, feeling as if she were someone worth spending time with, worth getting to know, and worth treating with care.

He drifted out.

And so, Angel stayed in 2D's pad for another few days. Days melted into weeks, and though she searched for a job…nothing. The move out of Kong finally got her motivated to get the final steps of her work visa completed, and now the papers just needed to be reviewed and set in order. She would hear from them in two to three weeks. Her heart sunk.

They spent another night with 2D crouched on the sofa, watching a horror film that was far too bloody to even give the illusion of being real, and Angel at the windowsill, wanting to open it and feel a warm breeze hit her face. She watched people walk down the streets, scurrying along quickly, as if they'd be frozen where they stood if they stood still. She rubbed her arms; at least it was warm in the apartment…

Angel got up from her spot and moved towards the stool next to the tiny kitchen counter, which until recently, 2D had used to watch his meals turn around in the microwave. Then, Angela did something she hadn't done in years. She wrote a letter.

She sat down, with a pen and lined paper 2D had ripped out of a battered old notebook and given to her, and began to write to Nadine. She didn't want to sit down and bitch in front of 2D, and didn't feel like taking the conversation to another public place. Writing seemed like the only way to go.

She'd called her once, when she was still living in the apartment in Trent, or, as Murdoc called it Stoke-On-Trent or Stoke-Upon-the-Trent once, all she'd told her all about him. And everything else. The thing with Nadine, which Angel both loved and hated at some times, was that she listened without asking questions. She listened as if she were sleeping, with a blank gaze and without a murmur to tell you she was listening. But she absorbed every detail, every tiny description of who you met, where you were, and how exactly you got into the mess you were in.  
She seemed to take a liking to Murdoc, even through a third person over the phone. She laughed when Angel told her his offer for her to stay at Kong, for she'd called her the night after he'd left; that laugh was the only interjection she'd made for an hour.  
She sat down and wrote, wrote about everything that had happened, every event and wrote the truth. Nadine didn't appreciate false feelings.

Things weren't getting any better. Company was what she missed and though 2D generally was friendly and encouraging, he also had bouts of complete and utter trances in which talking to him was useless. He only stared and nodded and not in the way that was the listening kind. He was a gentle person, but lacked something that felt like real companionship. He was…distant.  
She'd never called Murdoc; well at least, she never got him. She nearly wore the penned phone number on the small bit of paper away by fingering it and turning it over and over in her hands, and eventually she put it into her bag so she couldn't look at it any more. She didn't want herself to want to see him. She did dial the number once, when 2D was out at night and she was so lonely that she would have talked to a cat, but all she got was a bright little voice on the end of the line squeaking, " 'Ello?"  
She hung up.

Angel ran out of space, and began on the back of a doodled-on sheet of paper that 'D said she could use. 'Nadine' she wrote, hand growing sore, 'I want to go back. This place isn't my home'.

She felt guilty about mailing the letter as soon as she put it in the red post box—she had said some things about Murdoc, and even 2D, that she now regretted saying, even if they were true. But it was too late now. She wrapped the brown jacket around her tighter, and moved slowly back up the road, wondering if she just kept walking into the grey horizon, if anyone would really notice that she was gone…


	38. Chapter 38 Back to the Start

**Chapter XXXVIII: Back to the Start**

Angel sat on the counter, playing a bouncy melody on the old sitar, staring off into space. She was daydreaming, thinking of walking on a sunny, warm beach. She drank sparingly from a wine cooler 2D picked up last night, enjoying herself for the first time in a long time. He had a laptop, which, when he was out, he let her use. So between songs, she could check her email.

Things were beginning to look up somewhat, and she thought of Murdoc less and less as she reoccupied herself with playing her new instrument, getting used to how it sounded and making up dumb little songs. No job yet, and no papers, but 2D seemed content with her company and the meals she cooked. That made her laugh. They were like an old married couple, nix the sex… Actually, they _were_ an old married couple. She snickered.

He even promised to take her to the London Aquarium when she went off on a tangent about the ocean. He said he didn't like the actual sea very much—something about whales, or was it sharks?—but he liked fish just fine. Angel was excited. She hadn't seen London once since she arrived. But 2D often made promises that he later forgot, so she tried not to get her hopes up too much.

She typed out the bridge of a new song on one of his music programs, concentrating, and the phone startled her so badly she nearly closed the window. 2D got a lot of calls, and since his answering machine broke down she'd taken to answering it. She picked up the receiver, tucking it in between her cheek and shoulder.

"Hello?"

"Hey, put 'D on," a low voice demanded.

She brushed the hair out of her eyes.

"He's not here right now. May I ask who's calling?"

There was a long pause. Angel nearly hung up the phone, then she heard,

"_You're_ still there?"

"I thought it sounded like you," she mumbled, smirking.

"Where's Two Dents?" Murdoc prodded.

"Out, not sure where, but I can tell him whatever you want."

"Personal business, don't bother, I'll call later."

She stared at the opposite wall. He hadn't hung up. There was an awkward silence, then Angel finally said,

"H-how are you?"

"How am I? I'm bloody fantastic. Not that'd you'd give a flying fuck, you harpy."

"Excuse you," she stuttered, scowling. "I'm the one that asked."

"I'm kidding," he said, chuckling. Something in his voice said that he wasn't. She snorted.

"…What have you been up to, causing trouble?"

He made a kind of 'pfft' noise.

"You don't trust meh ta provide fer myself without gettin' into some kinda mess?" he asked, snickering.

"No, not in the least little bit, actually," she said, laughing.

"Well you'd be right! Heh-heh, got myself into a bit of a situation last week, I won't bore you with the details but…Let's just say that…Apparently there aren't any hookers at Tart Competitions, only old bints and cruddy old pastries and they don't take too kindly to having a quid shoved into their knickers, heh-heh-heh…"

Angel wrinkled her nose.

"You're an ass," she chuckled.

"I'm a benevolent patron who happened to be at the wrong place at the wrong fucking time, thank you."

She laughed. She hadn't laughed, honestly, in a while. There was another pause, but she smiled and leaned against the wall. It felt less awkward.

"What have you really been up to?"

"You wouldn't believe me if I told you, hnn. I've been scraping up some new tracks for an album. Right quick from Demon Days, eh? I'm a natural, eh? Been slinkin' around, livin' it up a little before settling down fer another record."

They talked for a while, not about anything important, but it scared Angel a little how casually they spoke, like nothing happened at all; like they just saw each other yesterday. She walked as far as the cord would allow her, looking out the window at the snow.

"Murdoc?" she asked suddenly.

"Eh?"

"You want to go out somewhere?"

The line went quiet.

"…Busy, right now love, real busy."

She laughed.

"No you're not, you're making an excuse so you don't have to see me."

He sighed a long, dramatic sigh.

"I suppose I could pencil you in somewhere between Kiki and Gloria on Friday," he drawled.

"How about today?"

He seemed surprised.

"Today? Yer a little eager."

"I mean it, can we meet up today? I've been stuck in this apartment for a long time. I could use some time to stretch my legs."

It sounded like he got in close to the phone, and she could just hear his smirk.

"I'd stretch much more than that, love," he snarled. "But like I said, I'm busy. Damn, another time then."

She furrowed her eyebrows, smirking.

"You're meeting me. You know where that grocery store is near 2D's apartment? The one with green stripes?"

He scoffed.

"No, but I'm not coming anyway so—"

"The post office?"

"No!"

"Fine, then meet me at Hopper's Bar, I know you know where that is."

"What the hell makes you think that?" he spat, grinding his teeth.

"Because the only landmarks you know are all the bars." She smirked, relishing his tone. "See you in a half-hour?"

"NO!"

She hung the phone back up on the receiver. Murdoc stared at the speaker, angry beyond words. Slamming the mobile down on the table, he snatched his coat up and pulled it on, grabbing his keys on the way out. He wasn't angry because she was being an ass, he was angry because he knew he was going to see her.

Angel pulled her scarf up and over her nose, breathing heavy into the fabric as it warmed up her cheeks. He was taking a long time. She drew down in the white coat, feeling along the wool sleeves. The bar bustled with noise and laughter behind her, tempting her to come inside where it was warm and there was hot food…

She jumped at the sound of screeching tires, lurching away from the black car that swung into a space right in front of the bar. The door popped open, the engine barely beginning to die down.

"You, ma'am, are a fucking thorn in my side. Everything's about you, ain't it?" he snarled, slamming the door closed behind him.

She smiled under the scarf.

"You showed up, didn't you?" She glanced down at the car, wrinkling her nose. "How many cars do you have, anyway? It seems kind of pointless"

"I have to compensate somehow," he drawled, smirking. "This is my incognito car. Doesn't look like the ride for a demonic bass player, right?"

"An old, black, beat-up thing? No, I have to say not," she admitted. "Guess it's something to keep the girls from climbing all over you."

He chuckled.

"Yes, well, I wish the girls were the problem," he muttered.

"What do you mean?"

"Nothing, no worries." He jerked his head towards the doorway. "Are we going in or not?"

"Not," she replied, pulling the passenger side door open. "I want to go somewhere."

Murdoc coughed-out a laugh, rubbing the end of his nose in irritation.

"So I'm just yer fuckin' ride?"

"No, you're my guide." She shut the door, peering up at him through the window. "I wanted to go back to Stoke-Upon-the-Trent."

He ripped the door open.

"No! You get the hell outta the car now!" He pointed violently to the curb. "We're not going!"

Angel shook her head, lips stiff though his tone startled her.

"I want to see England! The only thing I get to see is the inside of Stu's apartment and the few blocks around it. I'm getting a free European tour here!" He went quiet. "If I'm stuck here, I might as well get to see what people pay thousands of dollars to see. I'm getting it for a few quid in gas money."

His face screwed up tightly, a crooked smile being forced onto his face.

"Then I'll show you fuckin' Big Ben and the Queen and whatever else you tourists like to take pictures of. Hell, I'll take ya up in the damn Ferris wheel, but we're not going down to Trent."

She glared at him through narrowed eyes, licking her chapped lips.

"Well it's a simple little drive down to Trent, or you take me on that vacation you promised me."

He snorted.

"What fucking vacation?"

"You make a lot of empty promises, Muds, you should watch that," she said, narrowing her eyes. "Before you left, you said that you'd take me wherever I wanted to go. Trent's a lot easier to get to than the States, don't you think?"

He stared at her.

They parked in an empty lot, the snow drudged up and grey all around it, turning it into a muddy mess above the stretch of unused land. He got out, opening his arms.

"There ya go. This is the dream land, righ'? Dirty and dingy and an all-around hellhole."

Angel got out the other side, pulling the scarf tight around her shoulders.

"It looks fine to me, Muds."

She shut the door gently, walking over to the edge of the lot where Murdoc stood precariously on the edge of a steep hill. Down in the ravine, a span of train tracks thrust across the field in a brown stripe, collecting mottled puddles of snow and sludge. A few trees poked out desperately from the grey expanse, naked and old, reaching skywards with little grasping hands. Angel dug her feet into the snow, looking out over the little grey and red roofs lined up in jagged rows where the town began, high stone walls sectioning off backyards. Golden lights spilled out of them, even in the daylight, smoke billowing lazily from chimneys. She nodded.

"So this is where you grew up?"

"Yes," was all he said, lighting up a cigarette.

"It's nice," she replied, nodding again.

"It's dandy," he spat.

Tentative, she inched out cautiously to the edge of the hill, sliding down footstep by tiny footstep. He tapped the ashes out of the end of the cigarette.

"Hiking?" he asked, unamused.

She nearly fell over, losing her balance on a rock that gave way out of the hard ground. Her arms swung out on either side, regaining her composure quickly.

"I've never walked on railroad tracks before."

"Oh boy," he sighed, making his way down to follow her, sure on his feet.

Her foot caught in a hole, thrusting her forward, face-down into the snow. Murdoc rolled his eyes and prodded her in the side with his boot.

"Get up."

She scrambled to her feet, shivering, wiping dots of water off her curling hair. Face red from embarrassment and the cold, she cleared her throat and tried again, crouching down. She lurched again, this time in shock when Murdoc's hand came down onto her arm, grasping onto her elbow. He frowned, the cigarette moving from one corner of his mouth to the other. Leading the way, he dragged Angel along, keeping her balance. She clung to his arms, letting him guide her over a huge gap in the hillside, clutching his hand tight when he followed behind in a long jump, only letting go at the bottom. She ran to the tracks, making large prints in the snow. Murdoc smirked, tucking his frozen paws into his jacket.

Carefully, Angel stepped up onto the rail, freshly wiped clean from the wheels of a train, taking tiny steps over the metal. Murdoc walked lazily beside her, wishing he'd worn a heavier coat.

"So tell me," she asked simply.

"Tell you what."

"Tell me about Trent. Were you born here?"

He blew out a smoke ring that flew into her face.

"I was born in a looney bin." She looked down at him, nearly walking right off the rail. He glanced back up at her. "Nice conversation, righ'?"

She turned her attention back to the tracks, her chest constricting. He obviously didn't want to talk about anything that had to do with this place, and she knew she probably shouldn't press him, but she had to know.

"So who raised you, then?"

Smoke billowed from his nostrils.

"Jacob, my da—my father. He kept me and my brother."

She stumbled sideways off the rail, bumping into Murdoc's side. He pushed her back up, repositioning the cigarette in his teeth.

"You have a brother?"

"Nice bloke. Broke mah nose three times. He's been in prison for years now."

"For breaking your nose?"

"For stealin' hubcups."

Angel hesitated, then asked, "What was he like, your dad?"

He sighed, exasperated.

"Look, you think we're gonna have a heart-ta-heart here or somethin'? 'Cause we're not."

She looked down at him expectantly. Murdoc grimaced, taking a long drag.

"He was a bastard."

His voice was dark and serious, slowing Angel down. Very rarely did he ever sound so tense.

"…What did he do to you?"

"We had tea parties and played dress-up. Like you fuckn' care anyway. Yer j'est gonna want to listen to a sob story and then pull a long face and tell me how sorry ya are. Doesn't mean shit."

She stepped down in front of him, plucking the cigarette from his lips, taking a drag herself. She held her breath.

"I do care."

He snickered. "You don't smoke."

She coughed, desperately handing off the thing to him. "I know," she huffed.

Chuckling, he placed it back into his mouth. Something in his stomach moved while he looked down at her, into her green and expectant face as she coughed. He wanted to talk. It was a hideous power she had, that soft face that always seemed to want to hear what was on his mind, and having such an attentive audience, he rarely could refuse himself. He raked a hand through his hair. Maybe it would get him some sympathy sex, he thought bitterly.

"He beat the livin' shit outta me," Murdoc said finally, jumping up on the rail himself, his heels making a loud noise with each step. "Locked me in the basement a lot. Did most of my girlfriends too."

Her lips twitched as she tried to control a grimace. He caught it, though, and cocked his eyebrows.

"Did a few of 'em in front of me."

He stared at her. Now was when she'd gush out sympathy and tell him 'no wonder he was the way he was' and how strong he was to move past that, and all the same second-hand bullshit all the others spat out.

"Did you kill him?" she asked earnestly.

He cackled, nearly swallowing the cigarette.

"N-no, though I tried to, dun' think I'm a fool. He's a slippery bastard, though."

"Is? As in he's still living?"

He cleared his throat.

"Yeah, yeah he's still alive."

"Does he still live here?"

"No, Satan knows where he is."

She looked up at him.

"Can you show me where you grew up? I'd like to see, if you don't mind."

Murdoc was quiet a minute. Angel tried to lighten the mood.

"Do you forget, old man?"

His eyes snapped to her and he smirked, wrinkling his crooked nose. She guessed he had his brother to thank for that, and silently, she wondered if his brother looked anything like him.

"I can show ya. Maybe 'f the nice littl' family's out we could have a roll in my bed, re-live the good old days."

She laughed.

"Murdoc, if they kept your old bed all these years, I'd take you up on that offer."

"Let's hope to the Big Man Below that they did then, eh?" He flicked the butt of the cigarette away into the snow, tucking his hands back into his pockets. "So ya _want_ to have sex wit' me, hm?"

Angel turned, walking backwards to look at him with the most coy expression she could muster.

"I never said I didn't."

He grinned, eyebrows pulled low, an evil smile spreading across his face. The moment she turned back around, he leapt onto her, forcing her down into the snow. She cried out in surprise, laughter forced out of her lungs by his weight. She flipped over, looking up at him as he leaned over her.

"Right now?" he asked. His hands turned red in the snow, sending a shiver through him. "It'd warm me up."

Angel smiled and craned her neck, kissing him quickly. She pulled back, biting her lip, unsure of the surprised expression on his face. His lips curved up and came back down to her, returning the kiss much harder. The tip of his tongue pried her lips open, slipping past her teeth. Angel's clumsy hands reached up his back, snow sticking to her gloves and sending a shock through his body as she ran her fingers over his bare back. He curved over her, covering her body with his open coat, breathing heavy into her mouth. With her finger, she pushed the man back, his mouth hanging open in surprise. She smiled, scooting out from under him.

Angel got to her feet, ice falling off her like rain. She smiled and shoved him playfully.

"Don't just sit there like an idiot, let's go," she said, sounding much like Murdoc himself.

Smirking, he stood up and rubbed his hands together, trying to regain feeling.

Angel waivered in front of the house, looking between him and the stone building doubtfully. It looked so…normal. A tree in the small front yard, a garden, matching shudders—she expected a run-down place.

"Are you sure this is the right one?" she asked.

He must have known what she meant.

"Ange', I haven't lived 'ere fer twenty-eight years. It looks a hell of a lot better than it used to."

She stood on the cobblestone walkway, peering up into the closed windows.

"I wish we could go in. I know it wouldn't be the same, but I'd like to see it anyway."

Murdoc glanced from her, then to the driveway. She didn't notice him walk over to the garage door and peek inside; she was lost in a daydream of a tiny Murdoc sitting on the front step, kicking at the ground. She imagined that he looked exactly the same as a kid as he did now, bowl haircut and everything. She smiled. If she met that kid now, he'd probably swear at her and punch her in the gut, and somehow that made it even funnier.

He walked past her again, drawing her attention back to the present Murdoc, the forty-something, crooked and bent man currently looking into every window on the first floor. He looked at her over his shoulder.

"No one's home. 'F I give ya a leg-up, can ya open the window?"

She blinked, eyebrows furrowing.

"You mean can I break in for you?"

"Do you want to give me a boost, then?"

Glancing around her, she ran over to him.

"Won't we get caught?"

"Then run."

"And if the police get called?"

"Run like hell."

Wringing her hands together, she moved to his side, and he knelt down or her to stand on his knee. Shakily, she shimmied the window open, which would have been just out of reach on her own, pawing at the glass until it was wide enough for her to slip through. Angel tried to pull herself up onto the pane, but slid back down each time, the wool coat giving her no purchase on the smooth wood. Frustrated, Murdoc seized her by the crook of her thighs and pushed the girl up into the window, nearly pushing her all the way through down to the floor. She squeaked, catching herself just before flying downward onto the sofa. Carefully, she maneuvered over the furniture and unlocked the door. Murdoc hurried inside, but stopped immediately in the doorway, staring at the room distantly.

"Fucking floral chairs…? Christ, our furniture looked better than this."

He strode through the room, walking to the kitchen, looking disinterested. The room was unbearably country-themed, and Angel couldn't imagine Murdoc ever living here, even if it was decorated differently. She heard footsteps going up the stairs, and she hurried behind, her shoes tapping against the bare wood steps. He looked over the family pictures hanging on the wall, smiling at the woman of the house; she was fortunate in more than wealth. Angel gave her a glance as she passed, scowling. She was okay.

Murdoc walked through the narrow hallway, looking for something specific. He looked so large in the corridor, like the both of them wouldn't fit through at the same time, and it made Angel imagine how he must have looked growing up, and wonder if he was just as scrawny as a teenager. She realized something in that moment—that he as a teenager, in this house twenty eight years ago, would have been much closer to her age then than now. She looked up at the back of his head, feeling very far from him though he was only a few inches away. She was a kid compared to him, and her heart twisted in her chest. Maybe that's how he saw her, as a child nearly half his age, not a woman of twenty four. She fidgeted.

He turned into a small room, obviously a girl's bedroom. Posters of British boy bands littered the walls; Murdoc scowled.

"This was my room."

She looked up and down the walls, over the floor. She wished the house was empty so that she could better imagine Murdoc living here as a boy. He walked over to the closet, turning the old brass knob to reveal a sea of clothes. She pushed a rack of dresses away, and a pleased smirk overtook his face. She looked over his shoulder, straining to see what he saw.

"Christ, they didn't paint over that?" he muttered, kneeling down to look at the wall.

She looked closer. 'Jacob Niccals is a knob-headed, manky arse. Hail Satan' was scrawled over the wall in black ink. Angel burst out laughing.

"You were the exact same as a kid!"

He smirked proudly, standing up.

"They must have covered up all the shit I scratched all over the rest of the house," he mumbled, snickering as he slipped out of the room. Angel hovered, trying to take away all the junk in the room and fill it back up with Murdoc's things. An unmade bed, records all over the floor and a player in the corner, clothes all over the floor, a most-likely stolen guitar in the closet—she could see it and she could feel him in the very room, now. He poked his head through the door.

"Ange', you comin' or what? There ain't much ta see anymore."

She got up off the floor, scurrying down the stairs after him. She felt so close to him at the bottom of the stairs, not an inch from his back. He was a real person, then, with a real childhood, as shitty as it sounded. Hesitating, she reached out to press a hand to his back, but missed when he suddenly walked down the hall to a white door. His face turned grey, his hand firmly at his sides. Angel came up beside him, looking down from the door to his concentrated expression. She took the knob in her hand and pushed the door open to reveal the stairs down to the cellar. He didn't say a word, just stared at the rickety-looking, dark steps covered in dust. This was one thing the family hadn't gotten around to tidying up yet. Murdoc's eyes were locked into the darkness, glassy and focused. She nudged him slightly, and he startled her with a devious smile.

"Looks like we don't get to knock boots in my childhood love den, eh?" Angel didn't know what to say. He cocked his eyebrows, taking her chin into his hand. "Having dirty thoughts about my boy-hood self?"

"Something like that, sure," she said, chuckling, still thrown by his swift attitude change.

He turned suddenly towards the door, hearing a noise that Angel couldn't. He looked at her, a twisted grin overtaking his face.

"Go lock the door, love."

She did so quickly, and by the time she had, he was already out the window. He grabbed her hands, pulling her through, sliding the window down behind her.

"Remember when I told you to run?" he asked, his voice high and excited.

"Y-yeah?"

"Well, now's the time to do it!"

He broke into a sprint for the back wall and hoisted himself over it, Angel tagging along behind.

"Dad, were those footprints there before?" she heard just as she threw herself over the top.


	39. Chapter 39 Quiet Little Thoughts

**Chapter XXXIX: Quiet Little Thoughts**

Angel pressed herself against the wall of the building Murdoc had disappeared behind, her lungs begging for air, the cold wind stinging her from the inside. She slid down to the ground, sitting in the snow, taking huge gasps of air.

Murdoc had taken off like a bottle rocket as soon as they had cleared the wall and left her behind, tearing down streets familiar to him, and a complete labyrinth to her. She barely managed to keep him in sight. And after a few blocks and scaling another backyard wall, she realized he was leading her on a chase. As soon as she would round a corner, she was just able to catch the outline of his shoulder disappearing behind another.

He was fast for an old man, she would give him that, and much sneaker than she'd ever gave him credit for. She got lost once, trapped in a maze of stairs going up a hill-side, only to have Murdoc double-back and lead her in a different direction. He was just playing with her, cackling the whole time.

He stood over her, lighting a cigarette. Angel just looked up at him, breath heavy and labored.

"You're outta shape," he snickered, smoke billowing from his mouth. "Looks like 2D isn't makin' good use a' you."

She wanted to yell and kick him, but the more she stared up at his smirk, the more she wanted to laugh. He'd never grown up, had he? Not really. Instead, she just flopped down onto the concrete and sighed, smiling.

"So…where else are we going?" Angel asked, folding her hands on her stomach.

"Nowhere," he grunted, crouching down. "Tour's over. It's been fun, but 's time fer you to go home an' me to get down to my own business."

"Nope," she said simply, "I want the royal tour. Everything."

His teeth ground together, patience running thin. As much as he liked playing around with Angel and making her uncomfortable, he hated this place and wanted to get out soon.

"Where the hell else do you want to go? There's nothing here!"

She sat up, thinking. His old house was all she really had in mind…

"Can I see your old school?" she asked.

"No," he shot back, a little irritated.

"How about somewhere you used to hang out."

"No," he repeated, a little angrier

"Anywhere we could get a decent meal?"

He snorted, a little smoke coming out of his nostrils.

"What, you want me ta take you to tea? Not everyone does that, ya know."

The image of Murdoc dressed up in a little boy's Sunday best, sitting down to afternoon tea with a bunch of old ladies was too much to handle. She laughed.

"Take me anyway."

"All you're thinkn' of is pastries I bet, chubby," he said, tapping her side with his boot.

"Really?" she laughed out. "I've got blue hair, I'm a virgin, and I'm an orphan, and 'chubby' is the best you can do?"

He raised his eyebrows.

"Love, if you heard my best, you'd cry yer damn eyes out an' row yer ass back to the States."

"Shoot," she said, smirking, thinking he was kidding around.

He took a long drag on his cigarette, eyes still opened wide. He knew exactly what he wanted to say: 'You're a pathetic, whining, desperate little girl trying yer damned hardest ta be my fucking mother cuz' ya fucked up with yer dad. Which is moronic and complete bollocks, ya stupid bint. Go git yerself banged up an' leave me the fuck alone.' He turned those words over in his head, examining them like jeweler looking at a gem, and decided that they would hurt the very most. Suddenly a fire lit in his stomach, and he wanted to say it to her. He wanted to spit it right in her face, twist that particular knife right into her stomach—maybe it would make her cry. He was curious to see if she'd just take it and try to laugh it off or get right up and slap him.

But he bit his tongue despite himself and shook his head, laughing.

"Git up. I'll buy you a nice cup a' tea, tubby little tart."

She got to her feet, brushing the snow off of her jacket, and said something to him and smiled, but he didn't really hear it. He just smirked and nodded, glaring at the back of her head when she turned around. Something in him snapped, and his mood turned dark. He wanted to scream those things at her, and a thousand more, rage building up inside of him. It was all true. His mouth opened, the cigarette nearly falling out, but he shut himself up again, the words coming up short. Frustrated, he walked beside her, not listening to what she was saying as he led her down the street.

His irritation at not being able to say the insults he mulled-over and perfected in his head didn't lessen when they sat down in the Royal Diner, a place he frequented as a kid while skipping school. There was suddenly a cup of coffee in front of him that he didn't remember ordering, and when he finally was roused out of his trance he found the waitress and Angel staring at him expectantly.

"Muds, are you going to get something?"

'No, you floppy-brained old harpy, I want to fuckin' leave and git you fuckin' home so I can get my usual bint and bang her 'till I get bored.'

He blinked and made an "Uhh…" noise, making Angel nervous. She turned to the waitress, saying in a low voice,

"Um, maybe we could use another minute."

His skin bristled—he didn't know why all of a sudden he felt so bitter and furious at Angel. She hadn't really done anything other than be just as annoying and prying as usual, but he found himself utterly pissed off. She smiled over at him and he wanted to smack that look off her face, but found himself smiling—at little creepily—back. She kind of nodded and looked back at the menu, humming a song. His smile faded into a grimace.

How dare she be happy here? The thought bubbled up out of nowhere, but he found that—that was exactly what bothered him. This place was horrid, and he couldn't wait to get out as a kid, and that was still true now. This was where his dad beat him to shit and where he suffered eighteen years in a virtual prison until he could finally pack up and leave. He played with the spoon in his cup, squeezing the metal tight between his fingers. She acted like she was on vacation; like taking a tour through his childhood was a fucking carnival ride. She was so ignorant.

Angel looked up suddenly and saw the deep-set frown on his face and her expression fell. She glanced out the window, where he was looking—or rather staring intently—and saw nothing but the salt-coated sidewalk outside the diner. She looked back at him.

"Murdoc?"

"Hm?" he grunted roughly, the hot glare redirecting to her.

"Thanks for bringing me. I know you're not happy here."

"You picked up on that, huh?" he said snidely with a fake smile.

"Sorry," she said automatically. "I won't go poking around anymore. We'll go home after this."

And she looked back at the menu, ending the conversation. He stared at the top of her head, finding that, even though she really hadn't done much but state the obvious, he suddenly felt the weight of his anger seep away. She let it go so easily… His grip loosened on his spoon, and his hands fell slack on the tabletop. Murdoc glanced down at his own paper menu, giving up the fight in his head.

Maybe ignorant wasn't so bad…

"Look Ange', they've got peach cobbler. J'est turn up the bluegrass and break out the moonshine and yer righ' at home."

She snorted a giggle.

Angel stuck to her word, even though on the way back to the car they passed a ceramic goods shop and she wanted so badly to go inside. She walked right past and didn't ask Murdoc a single thing. She didn't have to—all of a sudden he was a treasure-trove of information. He was barking out tales of his teen-hood and all the scams he pulled off and enemies he made. He pointed out any old haunts of his they passed, suddenly in a sharing mood. She listened, thoroughly enamored and horrified by his stories. It was weird to imagine Murdoc any younger than he was now, and she couldn't help but imagine him at his age doing all those things, which made every funny story that much more ridiculous. She avoided asking about his father, and tried to keep herself from prying, not wanting to provoke him again.

Murdoc felt a little more at ease, letting his egotistical side take over. She wasn't exactly gushing over him, but it was close enough and his bitterness gave way to the satisfaction of being the center of attention. Besides, they were on their way out, and there wasn't any harm in milking every little benefit he could from this place that he could before taking off and—hopefully—never coming back.

When they reached the car, Angel felt like the entire day had been a little surreal—it seemed a little too perfect. She just stared out over the hillside where they parked, leaning on the open passenger-side door. Murdoc started the car, ready to go, but she just stared out at the town for a minute, trying to absorb it all. She looked down to their footprints, still fresh in the snow, and smiled to herself, right before nearly slamming her head off the door in fear when he blared the horn at her. He leaned over, rolling his eyes.

"Whaddya think I am, a cab service? The train's leavin'."

The sun was already beginning to set, and it was a fairly long trip back. Angel collected herself and got inside, watching Trent fade away through the rear-view mirror.

He didn't drive her back home like she expected, but was driving into an area she'd never seen before. She peered up at the tall townhouses and apartments that lined the street and looked back at him.

"Where are we going?" she asked, not really caring what the answer was. She didn't really want to go back to 2D's anyway. She didn't mind D's company, but she felt as if she was seeing an old friend with Murdoc, and wanted to keep him in this oddly good mood forever.

"Home," he said, suddenly pulling into a space in front of the line of buildings and parking.

She glanced from him to the apartment and back.

"Whose?" Angel asked, wary.

He laughed sarcastically, getting out of the car. She stayed inside a moment, looking up at the unsuspecting, normal-looking building and couldn't connect the dots between Murdoc and this place. But he walked inside, ignoring the fact that she was still in the car. She finally got out, rushing after him.


	40. Chapter 40 Interactions and Reactions

(Author's Note: _This chapter contains copious amounts of swearing and sexual depictions… Sex. It has sex. Sex is a part of people's adult lives. So, please, if sex offends you, do not read further. If it does not, enjoy!_

_There is violence, and it's not "fairytale" type chapter; this is my headcannon of Murdoc's behavior, and it may not suit everyone's taste, but I hope you enjoy it nonetheless!_

_This chapter was far overdue, and thank you all for sticking with me so long!_

_-Tcho a.k.a. Illusioneyes_)

**Chapter XXXX: Interactions and Reactions**

Murdoc pushed the door open, nodding for her to go in. She glanced from him to the inside of the apartment, wary, but went in despite her better instincts. She looked around suspiciously—the pad was much smaller than she expected. She had expected a warehouse; something big and garish that screamed "Hey, look at me, I'm a rock star!" But it was much cozier than the cold, modern feel she had anticipated on the elevator ride up. The floor was wooden, walls red brick in some places and cream-painted drywall in others—it seemed much too soft for him. It looked so average, and it caught her off-guard.

He closed the door behind him, tossing the mail he's picked up in the lobby onto a table. The kitchen opened right into the living room, and there only seemed to be one adjoining bedroom and bathroom. And a closet. Angel glanced at him, eyebrows furrowed.

"This seems a little…normal for you. Not cheap, but pretty normal. Are you sure this is yours?"

He sneered.

"What, not good enough? You were expecting the Ritz?"

"No, you just seem like the 'overindulgent' type. I expected gold busts of yourself and stone gargoyles everywhere."

"No, no, I had those removed just for you. Not like I'm trying to impress you."

She walked over to the fridge, and glanced down at the red brick flooring in the kitchen.

"I like it a lot. It feels…homey, not you."

She opened the doors, realizing there was little inside—nothing but a mostly-empty gallon of milk and a few containers of things she couldn't identify. And booze. She traveled over to the couch, squeezing the cushy, off-white cushions. Then she finally saw the boxes. Boxes upon boxes—mostly filled with things like records and instruments, but other odds and ends as well. They were stacked everywhere. Angel flicked through some records, lingering at Black Sabbath, whose covers seemed particularly worn.

"Most of the shit from the Winniebago. The rest…Well, I got rid of a lot of stuff."

Angel turned slightly to him and let go of the record, realizing that she was snooping. She slid her white coat off, draping it over a box, still glancing down at the dusty vynals. He slithered away, pulling at the handles of a cabinet over the sink.

"So, did you come up to observe my furniture, or what?" he called, pawing around. "What do you drink?"

She usually didn't, but that was mostly because she very often had no one to drink with.

"I'll take some wine if you have it. I'm sure you've got a stash somewhere," she added.

She heard him chuckle low.

"Pick yer year and brand, love, I've got it."

"Give me anything you think is too weak."

He frowned, reaching for one in the back he never drank. It was given to him as a Christmas gift from a producer, and he took it with all smiles and grins because he was _that_ close to getting a roll with her. He never did, but that was another story. Apparently she'd bought it for him because she thought he'd like the name—Black Cat. Unfortunately, he'd had it before—a merlot gone wrong, all fruit, no body, and no punch. He plunged the screw in, turning sharply, breaking the mauve seal. Maybe she'd take the whole bottle off his hands.

Angel was already busy getting back to prying into his belongings, picking through a box of candles and pocketknives and condoms, trying not to think of why these objects were together. She nosed back into some shabby-looking CDs, dusting off a copy of Tom Wait's 'Bone Machine'.

"Put it in!" he called over, arranging a drink for himself. "There's a stereo on the shelf."

She glanced over her shoulder, walking over to the only machine set up in the room besides a tiny television, and slipped the disc into the slot.

The phone rang sharply over the music, making Murdoc jump nine feet, nearly sending the glass of scotch he was pouring flying off the counter. He stared at the little white phone, his pupils pinpoints. His pink eye darted over to Angel, and his classic smirk returned.

"Must be a girl, callin' so late an' all," he said briskly, grabbing up the landline. "Hello?" he said harshly into the receiver, cupping his hand over it protectively.

Angel watched him for a moment, but every time she tried to listen in, he would glance at her and talk more quietly, edging away from her. She looked over her shoulder, forgetting about the wine, and started peering down the short corridor. She gave a final glance over at Murdoc, then wandered down the hallway, half-listening to his quiet conversation.

She walked through the wide-open door at the end, the dark wood door propped open by—she glanced down—a cow's skull, bleach white and clean. She touched it gently with her bare foot, running her toes over the smooth bone, and glanced into the room.

It was Murdoc's bedroom, which looked like a relocation of his Winnebago. In a month he'd managed to take what looked like it used to be a posh, brightly-lit master bedroom and turn it into an animal's den. Clothes and object littered the floor, the black bedding half torn off the mattress. Candles had melted and stuck to the bedside tables, the white wax beginning to drip down the curved wooden legs. The room smelled nothing like the trailer, though, nothing like mildew or burnt rubber. This place smelled warm. Smoke clung to the fabric, and the scent of wax and musk was strong.

Angel ran her fingers over the bed's footboard, sitting down on the edge of the mattress. She took a deep breath through her nose. Beer—somehow she'd missed that smell. She laid back in the sheets. This place, the smell and the colors, felt like Murdoc from ceiling to floor, and she never wanted to leave. Her eyes slid closed.

She could still her Murdoc talking, hushed, into the phone in the next room, and she felt at peace; a kind of delicate equilibrium in which everything was good and nothing existed beyond these rooms.

Suddenly it was quiet and Angel could feel eyes on her from the doorway. Angel glanced up, staring blankly at Murdoc, who looked too smug and coy for his own good. She gave him a half-smile.

"Your girlfriend?" she asked smartly.

"Yes, my girlfriend. Because you know I've got those," he replied with a snort. "I prefer… close, _close _acquaintances. Girlfriend just sounds so official, so…permanent." He leaned on the footboard. "I like change."

Angel pulled the black sheet around her, wrapping herself in the folds.

"I'm sure you do, Murdoc, you're not exactly an easy guy to nail down."

"Heh, you're perfectly at liberty to try and do so."

She glanced out from the sheet at him, narrowing her eyes.

"I'm not stupid," she said in a sudden, firm voice.

His smirk faltered a minute, then returned half as strong.

"Never said you were, love."

She stared at him, her eyes softening, and she sat up, pulling the covers around her. Murdoc leaned over the footboard, arms crossed, his chin leaning into the crooks of his arms. His smirk pulled at the edges of his lips.

"You cold?"

She pulled the sheet around her tight.

"A little bit," she admitted. Her clothes weren't the best, and certainly weren't the best for winter.

The thin material let the wind cut right through, and all her body heat flowed right out. She looked down at her pants, pulling down the edges. She should have kept her socks on.

His hands gripped her shoulders and she glanced up. He pushed her down against the mattress, leaning over her, stripped down to his underwear. No words came out of her as her mouth opened wide in surprise. She watched him crouch over her. A toothy grin spread over his face, his fringe hanging down over his eyes in an evil, ominous way. He pulled at the edges of the sheet, and she could feel the heat radiating from his body. Her muscles tightened. His eyes were locked on her in a way that made her spine shiver.

His lips smashed into hers, greedy, roughly tearing at her mouth like he was about to devour her. She drew back, surges of pain and pleasure washing through her, fighting each other for dominance. His tongue pressed demandingly over her tightly-drawn lips, trying desperately to pry them open. Angel, hesitant, opened them very slightly, warily. The slimy, unnaturally long tongue shot inside, sending a wave of heat from her skull to her thighs. He could feel the moan in her mouth, and he kissed harder, biting at her lips. Angel cried out sharply, reaching a hand to her mouth. She tasted blood.

"What the hell are you doing?" she breathed, wiping her mouth. "Control yourself a little, goddamnit…"

He licked his lips and teeth, grinning.

"Sorry, I forgot, yer a first-timer. Yer not broken-in yet."

Her brow furrowed.

"Excuse you, I'm not a pair of shoes, and I'm not ignorant. I know a kiss like that, and I don't usually like what comes after." She shifted under him, then said under her breath, "Don't be so rough."

His hands slid up her sides, pulling her shirt up along with them. His cracked, calloused skin ran sharply, firmly over her flesh, melting the rest of her words into gibberish, then deep breaths. He worked the collar over her head, throwing the shirt off and away, his palms pressing into her paling stomach. A deep chuckled rolled out from his chest, and another shiver went through her; out of fear or excitement, she couldn't tell.

His hands were everywhere at once, grabbing and tugging at her, clenching her skin under his grip. His teeth grazed her neck, sucking at the flesh greedily, biting down hard. She wriggled, unable to decide if she liked it or hated it, but let him continue wordlessly. His fingers found the clasp of her lavender bra, and fumbled it loose. He ripped it from her chest; he wasn't smiling anymore. He looked distant and gone.

Angel felt a flood wash through her body, and she pulled Murdoc close to her, wrapping her arms around his back. He ran his tongue over the raw spot on her neck, and pressed himself against her hard. She yelped, the pressure or his hips against her harsh. He pressed his cheek to her neck, and a strange, strangled noise came from him. More a whine than a moan, and it startled her eyes open wide. She glanced down at him. His eyebrows were knitted tightly together his eyes shut tight, his hands grabbing at her hips blindly. He was reaching for the zipper of her jeans, his fingers shaking.

He'd waited so long, too long.

He sat up suddenly, cold enveloping her bare chest. She rubbed her arms, staring up at him. The heat growing between her tightly-clenched thighs was getting unbearable, and nagging at her. Murdoc reached down, sliding her jeans down to her ankles, pulling them off her. His mismatched eyes were locked on her, staring blankly at her. Her fingers wound into his hair, running through the ebony locks desperately. He kissed roughly up her legs, his hands already at work taking her panties down to her knees. She thought she would be embarrassed; this was the first time he'd seen her this vulnerable, this bare. His heat felt wrong in the logical part of her mind, but felt so familiar and comforting that she couldn't pull away, and she ran her hands down his jaw as he pulled the fabric over her feet.

His tongue slid up her middle, leaving a dripping trail from her navel to her chin which left her cold and trembling. His forehead pressed against hers, and they stared at one another for a moment that felt much longer than it was. She kissed his loose lips gently, and she could feel him smirk against her. His knees edged her legs apart, and nervousness hit her like a bullet, striking her stomach in a bolt of sickness. He leaned back on his heels, easing his black briefs off with a long sigh. He reached over to the drawer on the bedside table, grabbing a small package. Her eyebrows went up in surprise, and a tiny, ironic smirk snuck onto her lips. It didn't go unnoticed.

"Hey, I'm not stupid." he hummed, ripped the package open with his teeth.

He rolled the condom on, his fingers a shaking mess as he fumbled with the slippery latex. Angel gripped onto the sheets.

"Uh, uh Murdoc?" she asked anxiously.

He grunted in response.

"Please, please be gentle. Don't just…you know…go for it, okay?" He wasn't looking at her, instead running his fingers up the inside of her legs. She grabbed his hips with her knees, his gaze snapping up to her. "Please," she asked again in a firm voice.

He hesitated for a moment, then nodded, leaning back over her.

"I'm not going to lie, this is going to hurt like hell, gentle or not," he breathed against her.

She locked her arms around him, gripping tight. He guided himself to her, and pressed against her opening. Her grip tightened, her face pressed hard into his shoulder.

"Murdoc," she whispered, and he pushed into her.

She cried into his skin, the bitter pain of being torn in half from the core shooting through her. Fire ripped at her insides and she dug her nails into the skin of his back. He cried out too, pressing his forehead to the bed, but didn't push her away. She raked her nails up his neck, the pain ebbing away as the feeling of him inside of her began to become familiar. Her fingers knotted into his hair, and another careful, slow stroke out, then in brought less pain than the first, then less and less until the numb pain gave way to a deep sensation that was so much stronger than anything she'd felt before. Fingers and light touches were nothing in comparison to this.

She could hear his voice over hers suddenly. At first it was a very low moan, which grew into a fierce growl, then loud cries. He pushed desperately into her, sweat pouring from him, his fingers digging into her shoulders. Angel's back arched, pain and intense pleasure becoming a blinding sensation. His voice was nearly a scream, and she could barely make out his words through his accent and moans.

"Ange', Ange', yer a fuckin'… Goddamnit, oh Satan, Satan please… Augh, not yet, not yet, it's too fuckin' soon… Don't… Don't you dare…"

His nails burrowed into her shoulders, leaving deep marks, and she buckled, swatting his hands away. Angel could feel him pump slower, dragging against her with sweet friction that made her grip his hips. Murdoc obliged her and drew out slow, pushing in fast as she rocked his hips with her hands. She moaned loud, the tightness in her thighs growing until she felt the spasm inside her that released a wave of hot pleasure through her body. She sighed and groaned, her muscles going limp. Murdoc hung his head, and slammed into her hard and fast, forcing a cry of surprise from her. Pain quickly replaced the sensation of pleasure and she bit her lip, holding back a yell. A smirk spread over his face, and he began to laugh, a dark, loud cackle. Angel stared up at him, nervousness gnawing at her.

His laughter shuddered, and he stopped moving, his head lolling back. His grin intensified, and a long moan left him, rocking in and out of her slowly. She panted, her head falling back against the bed. He pulled out, leaving her feeling horribly empty. Angel smiled, and looked up at him. He slid the condom off, stuffing it back into the wrapper and tossing carelessly onto the floor. He fell back down to the bed beside her, his breath coming in huge lungfuls, his smile gone.

She turned over, leaning to kiss his cheek. He moved away, turning to face away from her. Her grin faltered. She leaned over again, but he shooed her away, grunting.

"Ange', leave me alone."

Her stomach turned into a pit. She drew into herself, staring at his back. Her mouth hung open, then slowly closed shut. So, she was right. It was finished, and he wanted nothing to do with her now. It was like a switch had been turned off, and she felt endlessly stupid. She pulled herself to the edge of the mattress, a deep, throbbing pain sounding between her legs.

Angel stood up on shaky legs, reaching for her underwear, sliding them up her sweat-drenched thighs. She scowled at her jeans, trying to shimmy them on. She played right into his hand. She would have laughed at herself if she wasn't so horribly embarrassed. He'd made her feel special, like she was included somehow in this secret circle of his life. Like somehow she knew him better than anyone else and she had earned a special place.

What a joke. She was just a stupid girl that played his equally as stupid game. How many other girls did he take to Trent and use the same story on? How many other girls had he brought back to Kong, promising that they could stay? The only reason she'd made it so long was because she hadn't put out.

And now that she had, it was time to move on to the next one.

She reached down for her bra, gritting her teeth against the dull pain, and he stepped on it, nearly stomping on her fingers. She glanced up, his eyes serious.

"Are you going?" he asked.

"Isn't that what you were implying?" she spat, grabbing her shirt instead.

He watched her closely, kicking her bra away.

"No, j'est…Hey, come on!"

She pulled her shirt on, forgetting about retrieving her bra, and stalked to the doorway. Murdoc was right behind her, stark naked.

"Hey, yer not leaving," he demanded.

"I think I am," she said simply, gathering up her coat and scarf.

She slid into the white petticoat, ignoring Murdoc behind her, grabbing her shoes up in one hand—she'd put them on in the elevator. Angel bit back tears that made her feel like a child; she wouldn't please him like that, watching her cry.

"It's late and 2D will be wondering where I've gone to."

His face wrinkled into a deep grimace.

"Aw, fuck 2D, you ain't worried about him. Yer not goin' out that door! Come on! Git back here—"

She reached for the doorway, and his hand latched onto her wrist. She turned and slapped him hard. He stared at the floor, shocked into silence.

"Don't grab me," she said quietly, her voice shaking, and ripped her hand from his. "I'm not a hooker, I'm not a thing, stop treating me like your property." Tears bubbled up at the corners of her eyes, and she damned herself for letting them come. "I can leave if I want to!" she yelled, her voice getting louder and louder. "I'm not stupid! I'm not yours! Stop acting like you think I'm fucking special and just let me go!"

His hot glare rose from the floor to meet her, and he rubbed his cheek.

"You don't know anything, you stupid bint," he spat under his breath.

Angel stared at him, feeling the warm trails of saline dripping down her face, and she blinked them away.

"Oh, so you do think I'm stupid. I mean I must be, right? Everyone fucking warned me, you warned me!" she spat, digging a finger into his chest. He glared at her. "But I just had to play it into it and get sucked into your—your insane game and I had to go and get screwed. Literally! And now I'm just another notch in your headboard right? 'Oh, that was a good shag, love. Now out with you, and don't bother calling!' You're right! I am stupid! I'm stupid for thinking for a goddamn second that I was a little bit more than a little girl to you, but no one is anything to you, huh? Just another hole to fuck!"

His hand shot out and grabbed her by the neck, forcing her into the door. She gasped, the wind knocked out of her. Fear gripped her, sending her into a panic, her tears stopping suddenly. He glared at Angel, pulling her face close. He spoke in a low, dark voice.

"You _are_ stupid. You're a fucking idiot because yer too moronic to give me fucking chance, and you're out the door the first second you get. You hypocrite! You're not done for five minutes, and you want to leave."

She shook his grip loose, and his hand fell to her shoulders. The tears flowed freely now, dripping into her mouth as she spoke.

"That's exactly what you would have done with me! That's exactly what you do to everyone else!"

"How would you know?"

"You've done it to me before! 2D's told me—"

He rolled his head back, laughing bitterly.

"Fucking 2D…"

"Stop it! You know I'm right!"

"You're not any better!" he yelled, shaking her. "You think yer such a fucking saint, but yer just as bad as I am! Fine, you got what you've been aching for, and now yer gonna drop me and move on 'cause it's the logical thing to do, right? Isn't that it?"

She stammered.

"W-well…"

He cut her off.

"OH! Oh, what? That ain't true?" he spat, eyes open wide in fake concern.

"No! It's not!"

"Haha! Don't make me fuckin' laugh!" he snapped, getting in her face. "Yer just gonna leave me like everyone fucking else and not look back because I'm an incredible arse and yer better off not bothering, right?"

"N—"

"Well you can fucking go because you're right! I don't give a shit whether it's you or another whore! I don't care and I don't give a shit about you! You stupid, whining bitch! You think you know me better? You don't know a goddamn thing about me! You fucked up with yer father, and now you fucked up with me! You ungrateful little ass! Everything you touch is poison! Yer not good for a damn thing! Get out! _Get out!_"

His voice ran raw, and his breath came out in pants, his face an unhealthy, angry red. Angel stared, unable to speak, unable to cry or move. His shoulders heaved with every breath, and he clung desperately to the edges of the door frame, his nails digging into the wood. His eyes narrowed under his hair.

"I said 'get out'," he spoke in a low voice, an inch from her.

She stared back at him, and pressed her feet hard into the floor.

"No."

His nostrils flared, his body bristling with fury.

"It's not a question, love. Get yer sorry ass outta my flat."

"No," she said firmly, pressing her hands against the door. Her voice got shaky and quiet. "I know exactly what you're doing, and it's not going to work."

He blanched for a second, unable to come up with a retort. Nobody said 'no' to him; at least, no one did and got away with it. He leaned in to touch her forehead with his. Her skull pressed against the door hard.

"And what, exactly, is that?" he spat.

"You're a bully, and bullies get meaner the more you corner them," she said a little quieter. She looked up at him, fear and determination in her eyes. "I'm not going anywhere."

"We'll see about that."

He snatched her by the arm, grabbing the door handle. She wriggled against him, trying to pull out of his grip.

"No! Murdoc, don't do this—!"

"Get out! Get out, get out, get out!"

He ripped the door open, but instead of tossing Angel out into the empty hallway, she fell smack into the chest of a tall, wide man in a jacket. Two men.


	41. Chapter 41 Heavy

**Chapter XXXXI: Heavy**

Murdoc's pupils shrank to nothing, and he pulled Angel back towards him with a fierce tug.

"Get in, get in, GET IN!"

He slammed the door closed, pressing against it with all of his weight. It bucked against him, the men ramming against the other side. Angel stumbled back, eyes wide open, staring at Murdoc in shock as he pushed against the door with everything he had. His eyes shot up to meet her. Angel's breath sputtered out. The sheer look of horror in his face was something she'd never seen before in her life. The door bowed under the pressure from the other side, straining, and a set of curling fingers reached through the growing crack.

Murdoc's eyes wrenched closed, his bare feet sliding against the floor, his crooked body shaking with effort. Angel stumbled forward, then ran, slamming herself into the door with a loud _crack!_ and a shriek. The fingers splayed, blood spilling from the broken bones, and they retreated to the other side.

The door shut, sending Murdoc in a heap to the floor.

"Lock it!" she screamed.

His sweating hands fumbled with the chain and latch, managing to slide them together and flick the handle lock shut. Her hands dug into his shoulders, pulling him along as she tore down the hallway.

"Let's go!"

He snatched up a pair of dirty jeans, yanking them on frantically. Angel grasped her shoes tight in her fist and threw the window in the bedroom open. She stared out into the snow-covered ledge, looking down ten floors to the wet ground below. Murdoc grabbed his keys and shoved Angel roughly from behind.

"Move!" he snapped.

She hesitated, but the sound of the door beginning to buckle in the living room was enough incentive to take that first step, barefoot, onto the ledge. She shivered, wishing she'd put her shoes on, but there wasn't time, and Murdoc was already clamoring through the window behind her.

She threw the shoes down to the sidewalk, hoping she'd make her way down to them. The snow stung her bare soles as she took careful, measured steps along the wall towards the fire escape. Vertigo hit her hard, and she could feel her head spinning, her stomach lurching into her mouth and her legs grew weak. Murdoc crowded tightly beside her, pushing her faster than she wanted to go. Angel glanced down anxiously, her stomach suddenly dropping from her throat down to her shoes far below. She pressed against the cold brick, her hair sticking to the surface, her breath painful. Steam puffed desperately from her mouth, and she realized suddenly that she wasn't moving, as if she were glued to the spot. He edged closer and nudged her in the ribs with his elbow, hard. She started, shuffling through the snow carefully.

The fire escape was within reach now, but it was hard to detach her hands from the wall, and she found it even more difficult to get a grip on the freezing cold iron. Her feet slipped against the ice, threatening to send her ten floors down to the cement. Her toes wrapped around the slick layer of ice and slipped. She let out a short scream, clinging to the railing, her legs dangling, searching madly for balance. Murdoc grabbed a handful of her coat, holding her steady until she could finally slip under the railing and onto the stairs.

"Murdoc—" she barely breathed, her body shaking.

"Shut up," he snapped, shoving past her.

Angel turned back to the window and grabbed onto his arm tight.

"M-Murdoc!" she shrieked.

He glanced back.

One of the men began climbing out the window, steady on his feet along the ledge, shuffling towards them, terrifyingly close. Angel wanted to vomit, clinging hard to his arm.

"Move, move!" he growled, shoving her off, his bare feet thudding loud against the steps.

Angel felt like she was in a dream, running after Murdoc as fast as she could, but never gaining any ground. He was already at the bottom, taking off towards the black Pontiac, but she lagged far behind, as if she were running in water. She turned, glancing over her shoulder, and the man was there—following her as close as a shadow. She panicked, swinging her leg over the railing, jumping down to the pavement. She crumpled in on herself as she slammed, feet-first, into the ground, her knees screaming. She could feel the sharp surface cut into her feet, but she couldn't stop. Angel waivered, unbalanced, but managed to grab her shoes and take off behind Murdoc.

Murdoc slipped against the wet street, stumbling to the Pontiac, and pulled hard against the car door. By the time Angel could scramble, half limping, to the car, he was already bringing it to life with a sputter and a roar. Angel climbed in beside him, panting, and Murdoc slammed on the gas before she could even shut the door. The wheels spun against the slush built up around them, then gained traction, and the car tore down the road. Angel clung desperately to the upholstery, her body frozen and feverish at the same time. She slid down in the seat.

"Wh-where do we go now?" she asked in a strange, squeaky voice.

His eyes were glued to the road, his knuckles white in their grip on the steering wheel. He reached down to flick the heating all the way up.

"We need to go pick something up."

Angel's heart continued to race in her chest, banging relentlessly against her ribcage. She glanced down, pulling one of her feet up into her lap to examine the underside. The bottoms were torn open, scraped red, and they stung horribly. Her teeth ground together.

He glared down at the shredded skin, his lips curling into a deep sneer.

"Do NOT bleed on this car," he snarled.

She pressed herself against the door, pulling her feet up to sit cross-legged. She bit down on her lip so hard she could taste metal on her numb skin. Murdoc glanced up to the rearview mirror anxiously, his hands tight on the wheel until they were a long distance from the apartment. He finally relaxed somewhat and pulled into a tight alley, shutting the headlights off.

He climbed over the gearshift, straddling Angel, his knees against her side.

"Move back," he said quietly, pulling on a crank below the seat that made the back snap down.

She did as she was told, shifting backwards until she was in the backseat, and Murdoc grabbed her by the ankle, staring down at her bloody feet. He glanced down at the flecks of red on the seat.

"I told you not to bleed on my car," he said bitterly, opening the glove box behind him, searching around wildly.

Angel's breaths came quickly, and she let her head fall back against the seat, her hair wet, sticking to her face. Murdoc turned back around, tucking a ragged, stained roll of paper towels under his arm.

"If you can't run, yer not going to be much use," he muttered, lifting her foot towards him, using his long, sharp nails to pick flecks of stone from the skin.

She pressed the heel of her free foot against the headrest, grinding her teeth until her gums hurt. He looked up at her, briefly, then back down to his work.

"What you did, uh, ya know, with the door…helping me out, er… sort of. It was… well you get it," he trailed off.

"You're welcome," she snorted, cracking a smile.

He grunted and pulled the towels from under his arm, wrapping them around her foot. They stuck instantly, soaking up the pus and blood, making her wince.

"I'm going to take a shot in the dark here," she said through her teeth, "Black Clouds?"

"Brilliant observation."

She sighed as he moved from one foot to the other, restarting the process.

"What do we have to get?"

"Ya really are as stupid as you look. We're going to Candy Land to get the Peppermint Wand to turn pirates into candy floss," he hissed.

Angel snorted. His stern eyes met hers.

"We're going to Kong to get my guns."

The slight smirk left Angel's face, and bile bubbled in her stomach.

"We're… going to shoot them?" she asked quietly.

"Would you rather be shot?"

She turned to look out the window, Murdoc moving onto the next foot. She ground her teeth together, fighting the sick feeling welling up in her throat.

"We're taking the Winnie too. Can't stay in one goddamn place anymore," he muttered under his breath.

Angel's brow knitted together.

"I don't know how to use a gun."

He glanced up at her, halting his work for a moment, then picked out a large stone from her sole.

"Then just hope ya don't fall behind."

Snow fell around the car silently.

The drive back to Kong was a blur of anxiety and lights and Murdoc muttering to himself. Angel clung desperately to the upholstery. She had already asked him if this was playing directly into their hands, but he brushed her off and ignored her. She stared out into the darkness. It would be dawn in a few hours, but it felt like this night would never end. She couldn't help but feel that the Clouds knew where they were going.

Murdoc wasn't stupid, of course. He knew the men were not too far behind, but he didn't have another choice but to get the trailer and move on. He'd already paid a visit to every connection he had in England, and a few in Ireland, but with no luck. No one would take him in, on one trusted the bastard as far as they could throw him, and a couple of them tried.

He went to his old band-mates first. Munch and Billy Boy were the only ones out of jail, and the two of them gave Murdoc a good run for his life. He moved on and tried to find Russel, but he seemed to have disappeared off the face of the Earth. He made contact with Noodle through email, but she stopped responding suddenly. He gave up on those two just as quickly.

Without a place to go, he just began bouncing between girls and brothels, but after a little while word spread that Murdoc Niccals was on a bender and stealing girls' purses and soon he found doors shutting in his face, and there was nowhere that would take him. No old mates to run to, no girls willing to shack up, he even went to see Hannibal in prison out of desperation.

But he was alone. And he wasn't safe anymore.

He gave Angel a sideways glance—she was munching on her lip nervously, playing with her hands and giving worried glances out the rear window. Then she started fingering something in her pocket.

He narrowed his eyes and breathed out a long sigh through his nose. He honestly had no idea why, out of everyone, she was still around. Stupidity was the only thing he could think of, and even that didn't seem to fit. She'd gotten a shag out of him, that should have been enough to get her off his back, but there she was, keeping her anxiety quiet as they sped towards Kong. Maybe she was just bored and had nothing better to do.  
As much as he hated to admit it, he was lucky that at least one person didn't drive him away.

They pulled up the snow-covered driveway behind the studio, slowing down to a crawl. He parked the car a good distance from the Carpark entrance, and Murdoc slid out quietly. Angel threw the door open and hurried behind him, her chest banging and pulsing with adrenaline. He was sitting against the open trunk, pulling on an extra pair of boots and a shirt and jacket which didn't quite fit him, and looked as if they might had once belonged to Noodle or 2D with how they clung to him. He didn't seem to mind, and shut the trunk quietly.

"We'll go in through the back and take the Winniebago. I'll drive it out, then you pop into the car and follow behind."

"We're taking both?" she asked in a loud whisper.

"I'm leaving it with 'D in case we get into trouble, he's gotta be able ta move. I ain't havin' him takin' the metro to get my ass."

Angel glanced anxiously at the Pontiac.

"Alright, let's get in," he muttered, pulling his collar up around his ears.

"What am I supposed to do?"

"Stay outta the way and don't make a lotta' noise."

Angel was swimming in her boots without her thick socks, the tops of her feet smacking against the roof of the shoe, then squelching down on the barely-wrapped, raw sole of her foot. She peered up towards the crooked building as they grew closer. It was unfamiliar now, a dilapidated shell, falling apart. The damage the weather had done to Kong was visible even from the front gate in the dark. Half of the building had simply fallen away, crumbled down into the landfill. It left behind a gaping maw that opened into the sky, letting in snow and rain and crows.

She shuffled through the ankle-deep snow behind Murdoc, walking carefully in the path he carved.

They crept quietly into the studio through the garage, now mostly empty of cars. Angel's eyes wandered over the empty, oil-stained spaces. Murdoc must have sold most of them off, she thought, not seeing any other way he would part with them. She smiled—the Indian still rested beside a pillar, with its transistor radio fixed to the front.

Murdoc was visibly nervous, hands shaking against the wall as he peered around. He tiptoed silently to the back of the trailer, pressing himself against the metal. Angel's shoes made an echoing click as she ran to his side and his hair stood up on end.

"If you have to run like a woman, at least do it quietly!" he snapped in a hiss.

Angel flushed and pressed her feet hard into the ground, shifting to the very tip of her boots. He slid against the trailer, peeking around the front. He glanced around quickly, then without a word, slipped around to the other side without a word, leaving Angel scrambling to keep up behind.

He opened the creaky, crooked door as silently and slowly as possible, and cringed when the metal steps groaned under his weight. The Winniebago was many things, but quiet wasn't one of them. He began regretting his choice as soon as they were inside.

He'd taken most of his belongings out of the trailer, but the rest that were left were thrown around and ripped apart—ransacked. Someone had been in here and torn the place apart. An eerie silence fell over him.

Angel closed the door carefully, and he felt trapped, his chest constricting. He was caught in a tin can with plenty of windows to be shot through and no way out.

This was stupid, he realized, a mistake. But he had no other choice and there was no point in going back now. So he did what he always did when he knew he'd screwed himself, and started to laugh. Angel stared at him, her anxiety welling up. She let out a half-hearted giggle, then went silent.

Murdoc took hold of himself and his face went cold. He reached up over the driver's seat, under the visor and pawed around for the keys. His eyes went wide, and he fingers found nothing. Angel tensed.

"What, what is it?"

"The keys are gone," he muttered.

"What?!"

"The keys are fucking gone! This whole place was turned upside-down!"

Angel glanced around, unable to tell if he'd been robbed or if this was just how he'd left the trailer last. Murdoc shoved past her, running down the hall to the cot, searching madly underneath. Angel got down on her hands and knees, peeking under the seats.

"Don't you have a spare?"

"That was the spare!" he snarled. "The other's in…" He trailed off suddenly, then muttered, "The other's in the apartment, sitting on the dresser."

She whirled around, stricken.

"Are you serious?! You left them in the—!" She pressed her hands to her cheeks. "Why didn't you grab them?!"

"I wasn't thinking about it! I was a little more concerned with getting my arse shot at! Maybe you should go back and get them, moron!" he screamed, his face turning red. "Because you've been less help than Faceache so far! I'm just dragging yer sorry arse around! I should 'a left you at the apartment, gave myself a goddamn head start!"

Angel's face scrunched into a half-embarrassed, half-enraged scowl.

"You—! You absolute bastard! If you weren't such a fucking idiot, we wouldn't be in this situation! If you could just behave yourself for ten seconds without doing something incredibly stupid, then maybe you wouldn't be running for your sorry life!"

He stalked towards her, his hands miming choking her.

"You useless tusspot! Shut yer face!"

"Make me, old man!"

He growled deep in his chest and sprung at her, Angel grabbing him around the neck as he snatched her hair. They fell to the ground with an echoing BANG, clawing at each other, snarling like animals.

"Deadweight!"

"Satanist bastard!"

They struggled, out of breath, slamming against the cabinets and seats, shaking each other violently. Murdoc was hovering over her, her wrists against the ground, and he let out a cackle, reaching forward to grab the front of her shirt, but he froze suddenly. Angel's fist flew into his stomach.

He rolled back, groaning, gasping for breath.

"Sh-shut up!" he breathed, writhing on the ground.

Angel wiped the blood from her lip and sat up, listening carefully, and she heard footsteps, loud, resonating in the Carpark. She got on her hands and knees, trembling horribly.

"Th-they're here, aren't they?"

Murdoc crawled back to the cot, flipping the mattress up. He snarled. No gun, of course. All that he could find was a little pocket knife with a bleeding skull on the handle, nothing of use. Angel shivered on the floor, listening closely to the sound of people moving around outside. She looked desperately at Murdoc, pleading with him silently.

He looked back, and Angel found no answer in his face. He breathed heavily through his nose and looked at the ground. Angel's heart banged against her breast.

There were voices now, mumbling, but she couldn't tell what they were talking about. IT wasn't hard to guess, though. Murdoc glanced around, then looked up and froze in thought. He snatched Angel by the arm, making her jump, and dragged her towards him. He pulled her in close and cupped her hand to her ear.

"Give me a boost."

She stole a glance upwards and saw the emergency hatch. A pang of hope bit at her.

"You'll pull me up, right?" she asked warily.

"Of course," he muttered dismissively, moving to stand.

Angel pulled him back down by the collar of his jacket.

"You're going to pull me up, right?" she asked darkly. "Don't leave me behind."

He stared at her, face blank, then chuckled.

"I won't leave ya behind, you slow muppet. Scout's honor."

Angel nodded, then knelt so he could climb up on her knee. She grabbed his ankle, keeping him steady. He fooled with the latch, unlocking it silently, and pushed it open. Angel grabbed his legs and pushed him upwards with a grunt, watching him scrambled out and onto the roof, out of view.

Angel glanced around the cabinets out the window. Men were walking around the garage, some with guns, some without. Four, she counted, less than she thought, but that didn't make her feel much better. Murdoc didn't reappear, and Angel stared anxiously at the hatch, playing with something in her pocket—a necklace. She pulled the pendant from her pocket and slipped it over her head, tucking it under her shirt, gripping it tight through the fabric.

Suddenly he was at the open hatch and reached down to her. Angel grasped his hand, trying to pull herself up, but even when Murdoc braced his feet against the roof, he couldn't pull her out, she was too heavy. She let go and stared up at him, frightened. Murdoc looked little better.

Angel pulled the cot from its frame and moved it under the hole, salvaging objects and furniture she could stand on until she was within jumping distance of the hatch. They shared another nervous look, knowing that she was going to make the entire trailer creak, and she braced herself, then jumped. Her hands found the edge, and the Winniebago lurched with a loud noise.

The voices rose to shouts, and the men fell on the trailer like a small army, Angel and Murdoc pressing themselves flat against the roof. Murdoc slammed the hatch shut as they flooded inside, and crawled to the edge, throwing himself off. Angel followed behind, clumsily, and managed to fall off instead of jumping, bruising her side against the pavement. She nursed her elbow, but the echoing sound of a gunshot was enough to get her running behind Murdoc.

They made for the entrance, the sound of men rushing right behind them. Murdoc was ahead, keeping low and running for the soft purple of dawn that spilled in through the open entrance. Angel was not as fast, struggling to keep up behind him, and she turned to see that they were gaining.

A bullet whizzed past Angel and barely missed Murdoc by a hair.

They disappeared around the bend, climbing the steep stairway up to Kong's front door, and Angel was out of breath by the top, staggering behind the older man. He was quicker and more spry, and despite smoking like a chimney, he didn't seem as bothered by the run as her. He was making for the front door, which hung broken on its hinge, and Angel's heart leapt. They stood half a chance if they could hide indoors.

There was a loud noise, and Angel's arm stung horribly, as if a hot pike stabbed her through. A ripple of pain flooded her and she grabbed at her skin, crying out. She'd been shot at, just barely nicked. The bullet grazed past her, ripping through her coat and leaving a burn where it skimmed over her skin and kept going. She shuddered and drove herself harder, running on shaking legs.

Murdoc was miles ahead of her, nearly disappearing into the building. Angel's lungs filled desperately against her pounding chest, her legs turning numb under her weight and she couldn't feel her feet against the ground. A half-yell spilled from her mouth in a heavy breath.

"W-wait! Please!"

He barely glanced over his shoulder, racing into the shadow of Kong faster and faster, Angel falling further behind until she could hear the hooves of men clattering madly at the back of her. She pushed hard, harder than she'd ever driven herself before, and she could smell blood and metal in her nostrils, salt and snot dripping into her mouth; but she hardly noticed. She turned, and through a blowing curtain of hair, the men were upon her. She stumbled, and a loud cry pushed from her.

"Murdoc! You promised!"

Angel slammed hard against the soggy path, the sharp pavement cutting into her cheek. She let out a tiny scream, silenced into a grunt as the tall man grabbed the back of her neck. She craned her neck, trying desperately to look up at the man who was supposed to help her. Murdoc was a crooked shadow running down the path, staring back at her. She tried to cry out, but the hand clenched down hard on her throat and a strangled, airy noise came out instead. He stared at her, open-mouthed. Two men were on her, and the others passed, making a mad dash for their real target.

"H-help," she breathed, her head swimming.

She could feel herself being dragged backwards through the slush, but Murdoc got no closer. He moved backwards, retreating down the pathway. He gave her one last look, his expression nervous, and disappeared wordlessly into Kong, the two assailants following close behind.

Angel stared numbly, feeling her body slide over the wet pavement. He was going to reappear at any moment, she though desperately, he had to.

The shorter, square man pulled her arms behind her like the ends of ropes, and the tall one got on his knees before her. Angel kicked and squirmed, her body shaking from fear and cold as he hovered over her. She growled and roared, sinking her nails into the hands of the man behind her. He cried out, and struck her over the back of the skull with his fist. Her world spun, and she stuttered. Her scarf was suddenly pulling at the edges of her mouth, and the square one tugged it from behind, hard, choking off her voice. The tall man sat on her legs, grinding her calves into the ground. She grunted and huffed against the fabric, her nostrils flared, vapor shooting from them in panicked bursts.

"Oh, well, look what our little friend has left behind for us! He's too busy pissing himself and running like a fucking coward to notice his little tart falling behind. No matter, we can still use you."

The glint of metal shone in his palm. Angel squirmed and squealed under the gag, her eyes rolling wildly in her head.

"Maybe we can use you to get him talking. He's a scared little prick, you ought to work just fine."

Angel blanched, her body going utterly limp with those words. Her chest filled with anxiety, her heart so filled with terror she felt as if her ribcage would burst open. She shook her head slowly, her eyes locked on the knife—a tiny little sticker—pressed in between his fingers. He brought it close to her cheek, grasping her chin almost tenderly, gently in his hand.

The first strike felt like a paper-cut, shocking and painful only for the sheer idea that she'd been cut, a long slice drawn across her cheek. She cried out a gasp under the cloth, shaking horribly, her knees thudding against the man's sides.

The sting sunk in, burning her, and the knife flashed again. The blade dug its way deep into her cold, stone cold flesh, leaving a red ribbon splayed from eyebrow to nose. A white hot wave overtook her, filling her mind with blind panic and fear, pain searing every inch of skin. She screamed, her eyes screwing shut as the knife danced patterns over her cheeks and jaw, slashing over mouth, eye, and nostril.

He didn't stop until he came full-circle through the building and reached the Carpark, ripping the door open like a maniac. He braced himself against the door as they slammed against it. This time, though, Angel wasn't there to lend her aid, and the door was opening more and more with each push they made.

Murdoc took a deep breath, then opened the door, letting the first man fall through onto his face, then slamming the metal door into the second one's skull with a sickening crack. The first one scrambled for his gun, but Murdoc fell on him viciously, locking his arm around his scrawny neck. The man fought and choked, clawing desperately at Murdoc's skin, leaving deep, red gouges.

But Murdoc was a different person now, red-faced, baring his teeth, and he looked like the Devil himself, wringing the life out of the man under his grip. A strange noise came out of Murdoc, a sort of grunt and yell, and suddenly his attacker was limp under his grasp; unconscious or dead, he wasn't sure. He fell to his knees, totally spent and shaking like a leaf.

He gasped and moaned, crawling backwards, scrambling away from the man laying face-down on the concrete. He ran a hand through his hair roughly, breaths coming in desperate bursts. His teeth chattered as fear took over. Murdoc grabbed the gun in his unsteady hands and he struggled to stand.

He stumbled over rubber feet, scrambling to reach the Pontiac. His shaking hand found the handle, and with a swift pull, he collapsed inside. Ragged breaths heaved over his teeth, and in between, a dry cackle leaked out. The laugh grew until it was a roar in the dark. He shook with laughter, digging his nails into the steering wheel. Hot tears slid down his sweaty face, dripping into his mouth and suddenly he was sobbing, shaking with fear and gripping the wheel as if he would die if he let go.

Angel's eyes rolled back in her skull, blackness gnawing at the edge of her consciousness. Blood seeped into her mouth through the cloth and filled her nose, drowning her with the smell of her mutilation. She slipped in and out of the world, disappearing for what felt like hours, only to return the next second for the next swift kiss of the blade.

Murdoc thrashed against the steering wheel, slamming his palm into the dashboard as if he were driving a nail into a coffin. He shook himself, grasping the wheel hard, and turned the key in the ignition desperately. He had to get out. Had to get out. Had to get out.

Out blood poured from Angel's face, running down her neck, and her face was a moving mass of pain and horror, her breath barely coming in whispers anymore. Darkness ate at her, and she felt numb all over—a tingling enveloping the pain, and she was out.

He growled, throwing his hand down on the clutch. She was stupid, she let herself fall behind, and there was nothing he could do. She deserved it, stupid bint. He was smart and got out. It was just bad luck for her. A pity, but nothing he would lose sleep over. And he was home free… If he could make his hand move. It shook against the clutch, betraying him.

Murdoc swallowed against his raw throat, his body trembling. She was as good as dead anyway. There was no reason to go back and get himself killed too. No point. None…

The short man let the gag go, Angel falling limply over into the snow, and the tall one cleaned his knife against her coat, admiring his work.

"Hmm, a good start. But why stop at the face?"

"She's got a nice set, start on those."

The knife glided down from her chin, scraping her neck. Something whizzed against his ear, and the tall man flinched, the short one falling onto his back. Blood sprang from his skull, and he was dead. The tall one hunched down, retreating behind Angel's limp body, pushing her up to hide behind. He cocked the gun resting in his coat pocket, breathing heavily against Angel's skin. Her blood soaked into his hair.

"Come out!" he called into the snow. "Come get yer tart! She ain't gonna last very long dripping like this!"

There was silence, then from the whiteness:

"Go ahead and shoot 'er! I just want you lot of worms dead! I couldn't care less 'bout her!"

"Really? Why don't you shoot her yourself then, and put her out of her misery?"

A bullet flew past Angel's shoulder, sinking into the ground behind the man. He jumped, cowering behind the bleeding girl like a startled dog.

"Oops, missed!" Murdoc's voice came from the edge of the building. "Why don't I try again?"

Another shot passed just over Angel's head, and the man scrambled backwards, dragging her along the frozen ground with him. Murdoc reached over the edge of the wall, aiming straight over Angel's head, but when he pulled the trigger, a clicking noise drove a dagger into his heart, a pang of fear washing over him.

"No," he whispered harshly. "No, no, no, you've got to be shitting me!"

The man grinned, rising tentatively. He threw Angel's body aside, striding over to the stone wall with the gun pressed firmly in his palm. Her eyes fluttered.

Murdoc scrambled, trying desperately to open the chamber. He swore under his breath, pressing himself to the wall as if he'd disappear into it if he tried hard enough.

"Oh, isn't that ironic, Murdy-boy, yer gun's a dud!" he sneered. "That must be so frustrating. I know from experience that it is."

Murdoc grasped the gun by the barrel, hearing the man's footsteps crunch in the snow behind him. The man leaned over the wall, aiming downwards to shoot Murdoc through the head, and the sound of metal cracking into bone echoed on the stone. The man fell backwards, clutching the gaping lesion on his forehead with a roar. Murdoc dropped the gun sprung from behind the wall, knocking the man down into the snow, his fists slamming into his face mercilessly. But Murdoc, as spry as he was for his age, was thrown like a child off of the tall man and rolled into the snow.

He glanced up, and there was the gun, knocked from its owner's hand, lying in the powder.

Murdoc scrambled on his hands and knees for the gun, his body crawling desperately through the snow. A boot came down hard against his back, grinding him into the pavement below the slush. He cried out, his flesh stinging with cold. The tall man reached down and grabbed a handful of black hair, pulling his head back.

"I'm not supposed to kill ya, but I'm sure Boogey won't be too upset."

His pupils shrank to nothing and a strangled noise came from his throat.

Murdoc trembled.

He was going to die.

The cool metal of a gun barrel pressed against his damp forehead. Murdoc stared up at him—his eyes were cold and flat, and a small smirk spread over his face. Murdoc shuddered and went silent.

A deafening BANG resounded against the collapsed building, and the man fell back. Angel jerked backwards, her ears ringing and arms locked, clutching the short man's revolver in both hands, her palms sweaty and sticking to the metal. Murdoc shuddered, then sank to the ground, his eyes rolling back in his head. The tall man sank into the red snow, dead.

She slumped over the pavement, blood flowing down her neck, staining the white wool coat a bright red. Her head was swimming, and she felt the gun slide out of her hands to rest in the snow.

There was a soft pattering noise, then Murdoc was suddenly over her, mumbling something. He was quiet and muffled, as if he was underwater, and Angel did something that frightened him—she smiled.

"Murdoc," she said mutedly, "My face feels warm. Is that bad? I feel like that's bad."

His lips curled into a tight frown.

"Yer fine, yer just imagining things, love. Ya look… fine."

She coughed, reaching a hand up to her cheek. Murdoc snatched it and pulled her upwards, wrapping her arm around his neck. She flopped against him, limp as a doll, blood soaking into his shirt.

"Can we go home now?" she asked in an almost silent whisper.

"We're going' home now, love. Can't you tell?"

Her eyes rolled around in their sockets.

" 'S fuzzy, can't see…"

He gripped her hand as she slid further down his side.

"You don' need to see, just keep walkin'."

Her knees buckled and she drooped to the ground, her mouth hanging open. The wide slashes oozed and she could taste the blood on her tongue. Her knees touched the ground, her feet dragging in the snow, and her body drained of all remaining energy. He struggled to pull her upwards, but she slid from his grip.

"I feel heavy… I can't…I can't, too tired. Put me down."

"No, no, get up. Get moving you're not—no, Ange' get up," he snapped, pulling at her wrist.

"Put…me down!" she struggled, pulling his fingers from her wrist one by one until she flopped down into the dirty snow.

Murdoc scowled at the back of her head, grabbing her around the middle and pulling uselessly. She was heavy and limp.

"No, you're not gonna sit down like a goddamn child and make me carry you! Don't make me—! Get up!"

Blood dripped into the snow. He lifted her head up and pulled the scarf from around her neck into his hands, wrapping the fabric haphazardly around her head, trying to stop the bleeding. She grabbed his hands, trying weakly to push him away, and a garbled scream rose out of her.

"Stop, it hurts!"

"I know it does! Stop yelling!"

A burst of energy ran through her with the pain, and she started kicking at his chest, shoving him away with her boot. He stumbled back, trying to catch his breath.

"You stupid bint, I'm trying ta help you! You're going to die if I don't wrap it up!"

She stared at him blankly, her eyes glossy. He panted.

"That's right, you're gonna die. Okay? I'm yer best fuckin' friend right now, so quit kicking me!"

Angel's eyes rolled up like blinds and she fell face-forward to the ground. Murdoc blanched, hovering over her.

"Oh no, no yer not goin' to sleep! Don'—! Don't you dare!" He pulled at her, barely moving her body through the snow. "Don't pass out! Don't..."

He knelt in the snow, glancing around wildly. It wasn't any use—he couldn't pick her up and move her.

He pulled the Pontiac up beside her, throwing the doors open, and with a burst of energy, he pulled her up into the backseat. The heat ran full-blast making the inside of the car warm and dry. He snatched the end of her scarf, pulling it loose from her coat, and wrapped it tight around her face, leaving a space for her to breathe. Murdoc straddled her, unbuttoning the blood-soaked, wet coat, struggling it off of her. Her skin felt cold, like ice, and her fingers were red as if they'd been burned on a stove.

Hypothermia was setting in, and without a good deal of blood, she was beginning to go entirely cold. He stuck her frozen fingers in his mouth, warming them, and grabbed the other hand, shoving it up his shirt. If she died because of him, he was going back to jail and never coming out again. He pulled her fingers from his jaws, drying them against his shirt, and went to work on the other hand, his tongue running over the icy knuckles.

He glanced down from the scarf to the drying blood stuck against her neck, then down to something on a string poking out of her shirt. He pulled it out, knowing metal would only make her colder, but it was he who froze when the pendant dangled free. Her fingers fell from his lips and he brought the necklace closer to his face.

She kept his cross.

Murdoc swallowed hard.

He backed away from her cold body, tucking her hands under her bottom, and slunk into the driver's seat, throwing the car into drive.


	42. Chapter 42 Shake it Out

Angel couldn't sit up.

It took her a long time to notice she was even awake, fading seamlessly from the blackness of sleep to the blurred, colorless waking world. But as objects took shape in front of her, dancing into place, she finally realized she wasn't dead. She tried to get up, but her muscles disobeyed her, and she laid stone still.

She stared at the whiteness of the ceiling for a long time, unmoving, trapped, unthinking, in her mind, fading in and out of consciousness until suddenly she was aware.

Angel's hand moved, drifted lazily up to her face, numbly touching her chin, but she felt nothing underneath, didn't even feel her hand move, but she could see it. Her eyes rolled around in their sockets, trying to fix onto something, but everything was a blur.

Her lips opened and she tried to speak, but all that came out was an ugly moan and she startled herself with the noise. Angel laid there for what felt like days, until she managed to inch her legs over to the edge of where she laid. She gathered her strength and made to stand, but ended up flopping over onto the floor with a heavy noise.

Angel couldn't feel anything beneath her, but her face was ground into the carpet and another loud groan came out of her. Suddenly she was hoisted back upwards, her face pressed into something grey and moving. The thing placed back where she was. Her eyes rolled up to look at her helper, but blackness ate at her again and she was asleep.

She awoke again with a jolt, and her mind was clear and focused. Angel breathed heavily, eyes darting around the room suspiciously as they took in the light. She gripped onto the sheets, her brain struggling to focus. She was back in Murdoc's room she supposed.

She blinked.

No, this wasn't his room—it was messier and darker, if that was possible. She glanced down at the blue sheets—she was in 2D's bedroom.

Angel stumbled out into the hall, her legs failing under her, turning to jelly and refusing to hold her upright. She leaned heavily against the wall, dragging her feet along like giant, floppy shoes. She felt like her legs weren't attached at all, but just tagging along with her torso for the ride. She clung to the doorway, barely feeling it under her palms.

2D sat quietly on the kitchen counter. He didn't seem to notice Angel until she cleared her throat. His eyes snapped up to meet her, his expression something she couldn't identify, blank and strange. His hands tightened around his cup of tea.

Her mouth felt horribly dry, and it was frustratingly difficult to make the words in her head form in her throat.

"D, is Muh… Muhdoc here?"

2D got up quickly, his face drawn and grim, staring daggers at the floor. His muscles were drawn tight like a bow where they were usually lanky and relaxed; his hands fists around the cup. Then suddenly, the tension released and he smiled up to her.

"Lemme getch'ya a cuppa tea, Ange'. You look real tired."

He turned his back to her to reach into the cabinets. Angel watched him warily, and silently sat down at the table, her eyes tracking him. He grimaced into the chipped blue mug in his hands, the kettle shaking as he poured the water.

"Sorry, dun' have a proper pot," he said off-handedly, without looking at her.

His whole body trembled a little, his hands clenching until his knuckles were an angry white.

Angel pulled at the collar of the shirt she was wearing. It was too small, but she couldn't tell if it was 2D's or Murdoc. It was hard to remember much of anything—her brain was TV static—she just knew she had to talk to Murdoc and that 2D was making her nervous in a way she hadn't been in a long time.

"D," she started again carefully, " 's Murdoc here? I have to talk—"

He slammed the kettle down on the burner, hot water spurting out the end.

"No!" he said loudly, through clenched teeth. He took in a long breath and let it go through his nose. "No, he left a while ago."

Angel clung to her knees, drawing them up to her chest as 2D placed the mug in front of her. She glanced down at it—the tea bag floated lazily across the top. She looked back to 2D sitting down beside her. His eyebrows knitted together, his mouth struggling between a smile and a grimace. His body relaxed into the chair.

"How are ya feelin'? You in any pain?"

Angel shook her head. She felt dazed and numb in places, but no pain. 2D chewed on his lip and looked over at the other side of the room. She cupped the mug in her hands.

"…Will he be back soon?"

2D's hand tensed.

"Do ya want somefin ta eat?"

"2D…"

He got up, pawing through the cabinets.

"I've got some cereal—"

"_Stuart!_" she bellowed.

He pressed himself flat against the counter, staring wide-eyed. A shiver of embarrassment and irritation went through her.

"I need to talk to him."

He looked like a cornered rabbit, desperately seeking a way out. He swallowed hard.

"He's, er… gone."

"I know he's not here, when will he be _back?_"

She knew she was being short with him, but his avoidance made her nervous. His glossy eyes darted away from hers, the light catching them as they flicked anxiously from side-to-side. Her mind made a suddenly leap out of the static of her thoughts.

"He _is_ coming back, right?"

He looked back at her.

"Er no, ya see… He's not."

"For how long?" she asked in a high voice, the pit of her stomach aching.

He examined his shoes.

"For… fer'ever," he said quietly, almost to himself. "He's run off. 'E said sumfin about him not bein' safe, and he's…" He looked up, then turned away, "…not comin' back fer ya."

A long silence settled over the kitchen.

Angel felt empty. Her nerves twitched in a wave, sending shivers through her. She gripped her cup tightly. She felt as if she were being dissolved in Alka-Seltzer, and the room was beginning to melt around her.

"He just left me here?"

It wasn't really a question, but a thought out loud. She stared at the wall. 2D's entire body was twitching, and he turned around again, rifling through the cupboards. Angel lifted a hand to her face, touching it gently. She brushed her finger over a strip of gauze, taped haphazardly over her face.

And then she felt something.

Pain buzzed dimly under the fabric, running along her cheekbone, but something else much stronger was rising in her chest.

Her ribcage was growing tighter and tighter around her heart until she felt as if it would pop, and her stomach lurched up into her lungs. Her hands turned to fists.

2D was babbling on about getting her a proper English breakfast when her mug hit the wall in a blue blur and a smash of ceramic.

He screeched, nearly climbing into the cabinets. Angel hovered over the tabletop, chest heaving. The buzzing pain turned into a burn, and her body shook with rage. She turned around, growling out loud curses, but her legs got tangled beneath her and she fell flat on her face.

Her cheek hit first, and she burst into a high-pitched shriek. The burning devoured her face and filled her up, fluid beginning to leak through the dressing. Tears were in her eyes, her fists pressed white into the floor, desperate cries pouring from her mouth—which tasted like metal.

2D extracted himself from the counter and scrambled to pick her up. He pulled her onto her knees, nearly buckling under her weight, but her legs wouldn't cooperate and she hung limply off his shoulder, screaming in pain. He dragged her to the couch, laying her down, and scrambled down the hallway, disappearing. Angel pressed her forehead into the arm of the sofa, sobbing loudly into the fabric. Her nails dug ferociously into her scalp—the pain was all-consuming and unbearable.

He reappeared beside her with a pill bottle, dumping the contents into his palm. Reaching a hand under her chin, he tilted her head back. She hiccupped and panted, panicking. With his thumbs, he squeezed her mouth open and placed a pair of green and white pills on her tongue. She swallowed on instinct, the capsules leaving dry trails down her throat as they passed.

2D sat patiently beside her, crouched down at her face until her sobs became whimpers and her screams quieted into mumbles. His entire body was strung tight, anxious and he bounced slightly, waiting for her to calm down. Angel rubbed her arms, the pain dissolving into a quiet buzz again, and she shuddered against the couch.

"It was you that took care of me, then?" she asked suddenly.

He stared at her for a minute, then nodded, open-mouthed.

"Did you stitch my face up?" she asked, almost reach to touch her cheek again before pulling her hand away.

2D just kept staring at her for a long while until his wits caught up with him.

"Murdoc just dumped you off at the door and tore off. I didn't get much out of him," he mumbled, resting his chin against his knees, staring intently at the floor.

Angel sat up, joining him in his staring contest with the carpet.

"I want to go home."

"Kong isn't in good shape 'nymore, Ange'."

"I mean my real home. Home, home. I want to leave."

2D nodded, suddenly animated and eager.

"That's a good idea, Ange'. I'd take off before—" He cut-off mid-sentence. "I'd take a little while before you go, so you can heal up. You've been in and out for a few days."

She stared at the floor for a long time, and they lingered in silence.

"What does it look like?" she asked quietly.

He pulled his shoulders up to her ears, burying his chin in between his knees, not looking directly at her.

"…Not good. I kept cleaning out the wounds, but they look… all puffy and jaggedy…"

That made them both go silent, and they sat together until Angel fell asleep on the couch, exhausted and dizzy.

Days passed into weeks, and Angel regained her strength steadily. The cuts swelled into angry pink lines, as if someone pulled a rake across her face. They riddled her cheeks; grasping fingers that reached up over her eye, drawing a red barrier through her eyebrow and down across the tip of her nose. A few shallow dots marked her chin and jaw, but the worst of all was a gaping maw over her left cheek.

It was as if the skin were scooped out with a spoon—a jack-'o-lantern made of flesh. A wide chunk of skin was missing, and it left rippled, mountainous, wet scars beneath. Angel touched it in the mirror, unbelieving every time she saw it.

She contemplated how to pay for a plane ticket as passed the time reading books, sitting against 2D's radiator. He brought her tea, and more than once she contemplated staying with him in his flat. But then the night came and 2D retreated to his own bedroom, and she was alone again and it made her regain her senses.

She never admitted it—never let her roommate know—but when she was alone, Angel sobbed for hours—silent, with her hands cupped over her mouth as if it would help to hold it in. She hated herself for crying, and she hated her trembling hands, and the nightmares that ate at her sleep. She was lonely and terrified and paranoid and heartbroken and angry, and there was nothing 2D could do, no amount of painkillers he could bring her to make any of it go away.

She missed Murdoc desperately. And she hated herself for that too.

2D offered to pay for her way home, suddenly, over breakfast in a diner just down the block. He was treating her to her first solid breakfast since coming-to, and Angel was relishing every second of it.

As soon as the plate hit the table, Angel was upon it. The waffles tasted better than anything she'd ever eaten before, but anything would have tasted wonderful after three straight days of soup and cheese sandwiches. 2D watched her closely from the other side of the table, wringing his fingers around his cup of black coffee. He dropped a pill into it when he thought no one was looking.

But in fact, most people in the diner had their eyes fixed on the odd pair. Angel with her face bandaged like a leper, and a blue-haired boy that everyone just quite recognized, but couldn't put their finger on where they'd seen him before…

He drummed his fingers along the ceramic, and Angel inhaled her second waffle with butter and syrup.

"Have—have ya got any money left?" he suddenly blurted out.

She stopped mid-bite, and the fork drifted back down to the plate.

"No, not much," she said under her breath.

They both looked at the table, not saying a word.

"I-I can buy you a ticket home," he said quietly.

Her eyes snapped up to look at him.

"What…?"

"I saw you looking at plane tickets on the computer," he admitted sheepishly. "I-I don't ya don't 'ave any money, so…"

She stared down at the fork in her hand.

"…'D that's too much."

"I-it's okay! Really, I got plenty of money! 'S not a problem!"

"It's still too much for me to ask of you."

"Well…you're not asking, I'm offering," he said with a small, crooked smile.

She snorted playfully and smiled down at her plate. She nodded slowly, then glanced back up to him.

"I'll pay you back."

"You don't have to—"

"I'll pay you back," she said, not unkindly, but firmly, and she raised her cup to her lips.

So, with her bag packed, sitting beside the door, Angel was ready to leave, her ticket in her coat pocket. She dyed her hair in the sink, a deep, solid black to hide the blue, and 2D trimmed it off to her ears in the living room. She wasn't taking any chances being spotted by any more assassins, and with a literal target on her face, she didn't need any more identifying traits.

She hesitated in 2D's doorway. Her once lovely white coat—now spattered with blackish-red stains—rested on the floor in the corner, the scarf thrown over it in a long red stripe. Angel stared down at it, a chasm of terror growing in the pit of her stomach. She couldn't bring herself to ask 2D to throw it out, but she didn't want it anymore. It was a moment frozen in time.

Without thinking about it, she reached for her pants pocket to finger the necklace, but her pocket was filled with air, and a sick feeling took over. Where did the pendant go?

She sifted through the pockets of her bloodied coat, turning over every article of clothing. Anxiety fueled by anger rose in her chest, driving her mad. Where was it?!

A knock came from the doorway, and she whirled around, dropping the stained jacket. 2D looked her over, his mouth hanging open in concern.

"Are… are ya lookin' fer something, Ange'?"

Angel stammered, then dropped her gaze to the floor, tossing the coat aside.

"Eh, no. I just thought I lost something. But it wasn't mine anyway, so…"

He looked at her sideways, cocking his eyebrows. She snickered quietly and moved past him.

"Nothing, don't worry about it, 'D."

2D shut the door behind them, and they crowded together on the landing. He stared at her, just smiling, and it made Angel consider going back inside with him, just so she wouldn't have to be alone, but her feet were planted firmly on the doorstep. She smiled up at him and wrapped her arms around his scrawny body in a tight hug. His hands hovered over her shoulders in surprise, but then came down to join the embrace.

"Thank you, Stuart," she said quietly into his jacket.

"No thanks needed, Ange'," he said, smiling against her hair.

She clung to him another moment, then broke contact, grasping her bag tight. She nodded curtly, taking a step back from him.

"I'll call you when I get there."

She wondered if they would still speak, after a month, after a year, but that was too much to think about and she shook it off.

"I'll see you around," he said with a soft smile.

Angel climbed into the rear of the cab, closing the door behind her with a quiet thud, hushed by the snow. She turned around in her seat, peeking out the window to wave at 2D as he grew smaller and smaller, until he was simply gone. She shifted in the seat, holding her one, single suitcase on her lap, filled with all she had in the world.

She unzipped the front pocket and reached inside the flap, running her fingers over the silky blue material inside. She considered throwing the blue dress away before she left, but at the last minute, she shoved it haphazardly into the pocket of the suitcase before she changed her mind.

At least she had something of his to remind her it wasn't a dream. Maybe someday she'd wear that dress, she thought, but not for him.

2D watched her from the doorway, waving to the cab as it pulled away. His arm drifted downwards. He waited until the black car disappeared around the corner and he locked the door behind him. The flat was quiet now, and he was alone. He hesitated, then drifted over to the cabinets, reaching for the highest shelf. The necklace was heavy in his hand, and the reverse cross dangled on its chain, swaying in front of him, and he could feel Murdoc's stare on him.

He gripped the pendant hard, then threw it in the trash can.


	43. Chapter 43 What Stays and What Fades

2D waited.

He sat alone on his beat-up couch, trying to read, then trying to watch the TV, then simply sitting and staring at the floor.

He waited for hours.

Then for days, hardly moving.

He spent a lot of time with his eyes closed, downing pain killers like candy, and rubbing his skull.

Guilt was eating at him.

Doubt terrorized him and he wondered bitterly, with every moment that passed, if he'd done the right thing.

Lying to Angel was surprisingly easy.

And she so easily believed him, which made him feel even sicker.

He kept thinking back to seeing her face, seeing Murdoc drag her in, seeing the look on his face…

Winter had just settled in that night, and 2D was doing what he usually did on a cold winter evening—he stayed in and settled in on the couch with a B-rated black and white zombie film, a bowl of popcorn resting on his skinny legs.

He hadn't seen Angel since that morning. She left a note on the counter, saying that she was out with a friend. Worry twisted in his stomach. The only friend she had—other than him—was Murdoc, and that made him nervous. He turned away from the zombies, knowing at a blonde girl's leg, at to the clock. It was nearly four in the morning, and she wasn't back.

He shifted anxiously, trying not to think about it. He knew what they were most likely doing out this late, and it made him a little upset to think of that.

High-pitched screams broke his concentration, and he turned his attention back to the TV, just in time to watch the girl get her face eaten off. He chuckled. What bad effects.

2D jumped seven feet, squealing at the loud noise coming from the door. Someone was pounding, hard, relentlessly on the door, and he stared at it from afar. His bare feet dug themselves into the carpet, and with careful steps, he inched his way over.

His hand hovered over the knob, and 2D opened the door a crack, peering out cautiously.

"Whossat?"

"OPEN THE GODDAMN DOOR YOU FUCKING TUSSPOT!"

Murdoc kicked the door open, sending 2D reeling backwards.

He looked larger than life, stumbling in, huge and cast in dark shadows. 2D squealed, backing up until he hit the arm of the couch. It was a moment until he realized Murdoc wasn't huge, but carrying something over his shoulder—something with blue hair.

Murdoc pulled Angel inside, hanging off his shoulders like an ill-fitting coat. He dragged her to the couch, her heels scraping against the floor.

"2D you fucking twat! Git over here and help me! Stop gawking like a useless sack of filth and give me a hand! Are you listening?!"

He snapped out of his stunned trance, picking up Angel's limp legs, helping her onto the sofa. He stared at her half-wrapped face, dried blood coating the scarf.

"What happened? What did you—?"

"I didn't do a fucking thing! What's it matter?! Do something! Give her _something_!"

2D reached for the scarf, peeling away the fabric to look underneath. Murdoc smacked his hand away, grabbing him by the collar.

"Are you not understanding?! Get some of your pills!"

"She—she's unconscious, Murdoc!" he gasped. "I can't do nuthin' for 'er! She'll choke on them!"

Murdoc began to shake, his eyes darting between the boy in his grip and Angel splayed out on the couch like a broken doll.

"Well, well do something! She's gonna die!"

"...W-we need ta take 'er to the hospital…"

He threw 2D to the ground with a growl.

"NO!" Murdoc snarled, wild with anger and anxiety. "They'll kill 'er!"

2D rubbed his neck, shaking on the ground, watching Murdoc storm out the door and suddenly there was silence.

He could hear the man outside banging around in his car, and it wasn't until then that 2D got a good look at Angel. She had a scarf wrapped around her face, like a death shroud, soaked with blood. He crawled over to her on his hands and knees, and with a light tug, pulled a corner of the fabric up.

His breath caught in his throat, and his jaw hung open. Murdoc came bursting through the door, an old cigar box gripped in his hands, and his eyes locked with 2D's. He swatted the blue-haired man's hand away with a snarl.

"Don't touch her! You'll rip off 'er goddamn skin!"

"…She's—she's barely got any skin left, Murdoc…"

"Don't say that! Don't—! Just hold this and shut up!"

He thrust the box into 2D's shivering hands, lifting the lid to reveal a collection of vials and needles. He sorted through them, his lips drawn into a tight line.

"Murdoc, ya said ya hadn't used in years…" 2D said in a squeaky voice.

"I haven't… Not much anyway," he muttered, taking a fresh needle into his hand.

"Wh-what are you gonna give her?" he asked in a small voice.

Murdoc didn't answer, but rifled through glass bottles and bags of white and colored powders until he found the thing he was looking for. He plunged the needle down into a vial of liquid, carefully drawing it into the chamber of the needle. He was thankful that he'd grabbed the box from the trailer before leaving Kong. If he didn't have his gun, at least he had the drugs left over…

"Murdoc—"

"It's morphine, get off my back," he snapped, turning his back on the anxious man.

He leaned over Angel's limp body, grabbing her arm firmly in his free hand, hesitating.

"What if it does her in a bad way, Muds?" 2D piped up. "She's white as a ghost!"

Murdoc gritted his teeth.

"That's why I didn't do it sooner, Face Ache. But since you're no help, I don't have much of another choice, do I?! If she wakes up, and I'm sewing her goddamn face back on, it's not gonna feel very nice, is it?! Now quit yer goddamn whining and be useful!"

He plunged the needle into the crook of her arm, the clear liquid seeping into her veins. Murdoc watched her carefully, setting the needle down on the table, then bent forward and pressed an ear to her breast. Her heartbeat, faint, kept steady, and he let out a small sigh.

"Get me a sewing needle and some thread, Two Dents," he snapped. "And rubbing alcohol."

2D nearly dropped the cigar box in his scramble to the kitchen counter. There was a silver needle in one drawer, but no thread, so he ran to the bathroom and grabbed a spool of floss and the alcohol. He thrust the objects into Murdoc's waiting hands. He looked down at the haphazard first aid kit and glared at 2D from under his fringe.

"That's all you've got?"

He snarled, but dipped the needle in the bottle and threaded the eye with the end of the floss, muttering under his breath all the while.

The scarf was almost knitted together with her wet skin, clinging tight as he pulled it back. Skin and blood stuck to its shiny surface, revealing a red mess beneath. Murdoc narrowed his eyes, a sick feeling gnawing at his stomach, and he swallowed the taste of vomit welling up. Her face was a maze of deep gashes and pus, her eyes closed against the blood pooling around the corners of her eyelashes.

Calling 2D over, Murdoc grasped the hem of her shirt and demanded 2D to do the same. Carefully, they pulled Angel's shirt from her body. Murdoc soaked the end of the cloth in the rubbing alcohol, wiping the blood away from her raw face gently. He couldn't even tell where to begin.

2D brought a tiny space heater into the room, setting it right next to Angel's cold body, blowing full-blast on the pair. He watched nervously, leaning over Murdoc's shoulder as the needle went into her skin.

Murdoc worked quickly, the floss knitting her cuts up tight, his fingertips coated in fresh, slick blood. He didn't talk anymore, silent as he sewed her face up, even as 2D chattered at him. He didn't seem to notice the other man, and didn't as much as lunge at him. He wiped her face again, checked her pulse again, stitched up another gash. She didn't look much better when he was through with her than when he started.

The men were quiet, then, staring down at her mangled face, not looking at one another. 2D couldn't think of anything else to say, and his anxiety was slowly giving way to anger the more he looked down at the girl.

His gaze fell onto Murdoc, who didn't look like he knew where he was anymore, just staring at Angel in a stupor.

"What happened?" he demanded.

Murdoc's red eye snapped up to glare at him.

"I didn't do this to 'er, if that's what yer implying," he growled.

"I didn' say 'at. I asked what happened."

He got up, wiping his bloodied hands on Angel's once-white shirt.

"We got jumped, at Kong. It was… people who don't like me very much."

"To put it lightly," 2D muttered.

Murdoc's hand flew out, striking 2D across the top of his head.

"Shut up and help me move her! It's none of yer business anyway!"

They moved to Angel's side, 2D glaring at Murdoc with narrowed, glassy black eyes. They lifted her carefully, 2D at her feet, and Murdoc at her shoulders, moving her with great care into the bedroom, laying her down on his bed. Murdoc took a step back, rubbing his face with his hands.

"She's got to stay here, D," he suddenly said, devoid of hatred or anger.

"That's fine… I'll stay in the living room." He played with his hands, then grudgingly said, "You can stay in here wit' her, 'f you want…"

"I'm leaving."

2D's head snapped up, his eyes going wide.

"What?!"

"You're gonna have to keep an eye on her until I get back," he said, talking right over 2D.

He moved over to Angel's side, pulling his reverse-cross from his pocket, rubbing it between his fingers. The metal was cold. He warmed the surface, heating it between shaking fingers.

"If I stay here, you'll both just be goddamn sitting ducks. And you're just as dysfunctional and useless as she is now." He glanced over his shoulder, his face serious. "I'll come get her when I can, but she's not gonna be safe comin' along with me, alright? Can you babysit for me?"

2D bit back his angry words, cooling himself until he could manage a curt nod.

The reverse-cross pendant left deep grooves in Murdoc's palm where he squeezed it hard in his hand. He lifted her head, slipping the cord around her neck, then pulled the blanket over her. The cross laid heavily around her collar, and she looked like a wicked saint being laid to rest.

2D watched him warily.

"Keep the rest of the morphine, dose her up if you need to, but don't give her too much! Alright? She'll stop breathing if you fuck up!"

2D nodded.

"And change her dressings; don't let them get too wet. And get some antibiotic—rub it on the cuts… And don't let her get out of bed!"

"Okay, Murdoc, I can't take care of 'er!"

Murdoc let out a long breath through his nose, pushing past the man on his way out of the bedroom.

"I'll be back in three weeks or so." He rounded on his band-mate. "_Do not_ let her leave this house."

"I won't—"

"No! You don't understand! _She does not leave this house_," he spat, emphasis growing on every word. "Not one TOE outside of the front door!"

"O-okay…"

Murdoc gave him a long, hard stare. He glanced back to the bedroom door, and suddenly, the harshness drifted from his eyes and he was left looking shaken and weak.

"Don't let her die," he said quietly, his eyes snapping back to 2D, his gaze cold again.

2D didn't know what to say to that, and instead watched the man turn his back and walk to the front door. He stopped a moment, then turned on his heel, leaning over the cigar box. He sorted through the contents, then stuffed a packet of powder in his pocket. 2D watched him distantly, and trembled when Murdoc glared up at her. He pointed a scraggly finger at him.

"You keep her safe."

2D nodded, and without another word, Murdoc slipped like a shadow into the night.

2D blinked, staring at the blank television set. Murdoc was late—three weeks had passed, and he still hadn't come back. He was grateful for that; it gave him enough time to help Angel recover and shoo her out the door before he returned.

It was so easy for her to believe that he'd left her for dead. It was so easy to convince her to leave, so easy to send her far away, somewhere safe. She would be able to forget, and Murdoc would become a distant, regrettable memory. All she would remember would be what he did to her, and she wouldn't go looking for him again.

He hurt her by lying to her, but he couldn't watch Murdoc come back and wring the last of her life out of her. He would suck her dry until there was nothing left, and Angel would wither away, unable to live her life, unable to escape Murdoc's insanity.

He did the right thing—he assured himself—he did the right thing. He did…

Murdoc called that morning, a short, concise conversation. He was coming back that night. Leave the door unlocked.

So 2D waited.

He laid out on the couch, his legs and feet dangling off the end, and he waited for the hammer to fall.

The front door opened with a loud creak, but he remained locked in a staring-contest with the ceiling. His chest tightened.

"Hey Face-Ache! Wake Ange' up for me, will ya? I wanna see how she's done!" he called in a casual voice, as if he'd only left to do the shopping an hour ago.

2D didn't look at Murdoc as he walked in—soaked head-to-toe from the rain that fell relentlessly outside—his hair hanging in wet, greasy strings over his face. He clutched a bunch of half-dead yellow flowers in his fist. It looked like he was trying to strangle them.

"Birds like flowers and shit like that when they're sick, righ'? Git me a cup 'er somthin' to put these in, Tuss-Pot."

2D stayed right where he was, his gaze never leaving its spot on the ceiling. Murdoc leaned over the back of the couch, dripping onto 2D's face. He sneered.

"What, are ya deaf now? Did Ange' give ya a nice box 'round the ears when she woke up?" he cackled, tossing his wet coat over 2D, turning around to grab a tall glass off the counter.

He filled it up with water and stuck the flowers in. They drooped, their stems nearly snapped in half, but he fussed them back into an almost healthy-looking arrangement and plodded down the hallway, leaving a wet trail behind.

2D didn't move. He could hear Murdoc knock on Angel's door, calling to her, and then the door squeaked open. There was a long silence, and 2D's heart banged horribly against his ribs. He closed his eyes, hearing heavy footsteps come back towards him.

"Where is she?" he hissed, the glass squeezed tightly in his hand.

2D didn't answer, didn't look—only braced himself. Murdoc slammed the glass of half-dead flowers down on the coffee table and dragged 2D up by his collar. He pulled him in to his face, like he was reeling in a fish, and spoke in a low tone.

"I said, where is she?"

2D blinked, feeling his fear suddenly rush out of him; he knew what was coming.

"She's gone, Muds. She left yesterday."

Murdoc's pupils shrunk into pinpoints. He shook the younger man violently.

"Gone? Gone where? Gone whe—she's still wrapped up like a goddamn mummy, where the fuck could she have gone?! _Where the hell is she?!"_

"Home, she went home. Ange' left, an' she's back home. She said she couldn't wait fer ya anymore."

Murdoc's hands shook, his shoulders trembling. He looked as if a bolt of electricity was running through him, his face full of dread and fear.

2D flinched, his muscles tensing as Murdoc's first slammed into the side of his face, knocking the wind from him.

"You fuckin' liar! What the hell did you say to her?! I told you I'd be back in a couple weeks! I told you, you useless Tusspot! I told you she wasn't to leave the goddamn house!"

2D stared blankly back at him, letting the blows hit him without struggling or fighting back. He went limp in Murdoc's grip, just staring up at him. His face felt heavy, and it was hard to speak.

"Sh-she's better than you. I had to get her out. I didn'… want ta see you… suck 'er into yer fuckin' insanity." He coughed , blood running from the corner of his lip.

"You're the reason she got hurt!" he screamed. "YOU ALMOST KILLED HER, YOU SELFISH OLD MAN!"

Murdoc had him pinned on the floor now, his eyes wide and blood-shot, his lips curled up in the most vicious sneer he could muster. He smashed his fist into 2D's face until it swelled under his hand and he couldn't speak anymore. Blood trickled down out of the corner of his cut lips. 2D wheezed desperately, but Murdoc held fast, gripping him by the neck. He pressed down hard, choking his scrawny neck, pressing until 2D clawed at his hands and began to turn red. He growled in his chest.

"YOU made her leave!" Murdoc snarled. "You lied to her!"

His hands laced in a death grip around the scrawny neck.

"You let her leave me! You made her go!"

2D ripped at his hands, his lungs begging for air, his eyes swelling in their sockets. Murdoc's eyes were narrowed, and fear rippled through 2D in waves. He'd been beaten within an inch of his life before, but this time, Murdoc looked as if he actually meant to kill him.

But suddenly, something snapped behind Murdoc's eyes, and he released the singer's neck.

2D coughed, holding her neck tenderly, rolling on the floor in pain and desperate gasps. Murdoc leaned back, breathing heavily through his mouth, his eyes darting around wildly. He struggled to his feet, hovering over 2D.

"Where did she go?"

The blue-haired man glared up at him, scowling.

"Fuck you."

Murdoc's boot slammed into his stomach, and he let out a cut-off groan. He leaned down and grabbed his collar.

"Where did she go?" he asked again, emphasizing each word, desperation leaking into his voice.

2D stayed silent. Murdoc shook him hard.

"Where is she? Tell me now!" he cried out. "Tell me!"

But there was no use—2D just stared back up at him, his eyes glassy, his lips curled up in a defiant and disgusted scowl. He dropped the man to the floor with a heavy thud, his boots grinding hard into the carpet as he paced.

2D dragged himself up onto the couch, cradling his pounding head, watching Murdoc with wary eyes. He nursed his bruises, staying silent.

Murdoc paced and paced, his anger visibly growing until he snatched the glass of flowers from the table and threw it at the wall with a yell. The glass shattered against the same spot where Angel had taken out her own anger on 2D's ceramic. He panted, watching the flowers sag and wither in the pool of water.

"Fine," he snarled suddenly. "If you won't tell me, I'll just have to go find her myself."

2D's eyes went wide, his body going cold. He heard Murdoc begin to walk to the door, and suddenly he was on his feet, following close behind. Before the bassist could touch the door handle, his band-mate was upon him, knocking him to the ground.

Now Murdoc was the one on his back, the larger man pressing him into the floor. 2D grabbed Murdoc by a fistful of black hair, forcing a loud howl from him. His short nails dug into the man's jaw, and he thrust his head back, silencing him. His legs kicked wildly under the tall man, trying to knock him off, but 2D was strong and kept his hold over the shorter man.

"Leave her alone," he said in a voice that didn't sound right coming from him. "Don't go looking for her. Just let her go."

"Or what?!" Murdoc spat, fierce and insulted. "What are you going to do to me, Stu? Kill me?!"

2D took a long breath in through his nose.

"I didn't think so," Murdoc snarled. "I'll do what I want with her."

He growled, 2D's nails sinking deeper into his skin.

"She's not a goddamn plaything! You can't go 'round toying with people! It's sick!"

Pain flooded through Murdoc, 2D's weight crushing him, and his scalp and jaw burned under his hands.

"She's all I've got left!" he cried.

Silence settled over them.

"Wh…what?"

Murdoc scowled, his eyes boring holes into 2D's head.

"You fucking heard me."

The blue-haired man was struck dumb, his mouth hanging open as he stared down at the shell of a man under him.

"Now," Murdoc growled, "get off me!"

His knee came flying up into 2D's crotch, and he squealed, sliding off onto the floor with a whine. Murdoc brushed his hair back into place, running his fingertips over the marks left on his face.

2D heard him go, but he stayed face-down on the floor, cradling himself, listening to a car start up outside and peel away.


	44. Chapter 44 Cyclic

It rained a lot that summer.

More than Angel could remember in a long time.

It rained for days at a time, and almost every night, there was a quiet, reserved drizzle outside. She tried not to think about England.

It became a habit, now that she was back in North Carolina, settled in for half a year, to walk the beach every day, just like when she was in school. For many of the same reasons, too. Except, there was no reason to go home. Nobody was waiting for her.

She stared out at the waves—often in the rain, though she didn't care much—her bare feet buried in shell-laden sand, just staring at the gloomy, grey horizon. People passed her, with their husbands and children, men and women with their dogs, and for hours she sat, by herself, staring, until everyone else had gone home besides maybe an old man wandering up and down the beach, listening for metal.

It was raining again in the beginning of July, Independence Day over, and tourism in full-swing. She wasn't alone at all on the beach that morning, and the longer she stayed, sitting on her shoes, watching the water take the sand away, the more people moved in around her. She didn't mind the pitying looks adults gave her or the unabashed, open-mouthed stares from children.

She didn't mind much anymore, in fact.

Angel, for the most part, remained unaffected, untouched by everyone around her, drifting through life at a different speed. Everything whizzed past her, people laughing and chasing and doing, and she stayed still, staring.

There was no one to go home to, she thought, patting down mounds of sand over her feet; she might as well stay.

And like all the other days, the rain came, making wet dots in the sand, and as suddenly as they had come, everyone fled for the boardwalks and their summer homes, and Angel watched the storm come over the horizon, staring.

She loved the warm, damp weather, and it was one of the only things she took notice of. She didn't want to think of winter, or the cold, or snow.

Even the thought of winter made her mouth taste like iron and her cheeks buzz.

Finally she was soaked, her short hair clinging to her face in stringy, black strands, and, wiping the wet sand from her legs, she got up. She took the long way home, walking barefoot, her shoes in each hand. No one was waiting for her anyway. She took her time.

Angel enjoyed the quiet of her town. She forgot how quiet the city could be when she herself stayed quiet. With the sound of the rain pattering all around her, she could hear the shore breathe as she walked.

Cars passed, inches from her as she walked along the street with no sidewalk, the tough grass underfoot. She stopped in the town, listening to a man play guitar under an awning and mutter out a song in an old voice. She sat down for twenty minutes until he was finished, then thanked him. She put a five in his case.

Angel walked along, taking her time, stopping when she liked, resting until she felt compelled to move on, and eventually she was at her steps. Like she expected, no one was waiting for her. Hazan was on her side of the porch, though, her amber eyes focused on Angel as she climbed the blue, wooden stairs.

"You are going to catch your death if you walk out in the rain again," she chided in her smooth voice.

Angel smiled warmly at her neighbor.

"I'm fine."

Hazan eyed her warily.

"Come inside, I baked this morning. Fresh honey cakes," she tempted. "I'll make you some coffee."

"That's okay, Hazan, you don't need to go through all the trou—"

"I will hear none of it," she interrupted, turning to go back inside to her half of the house. "Change out of your wet clothes, then come over."

Angel watched her disappear inside, shaking her head. Angel smiled. At least she wasn't completely alone. She pulled on the unlocked screen door and slunk inside.

Hazan's side of the duplex felt much more comfortable than her own, Angel thought as she sat on the plush couch in her neighbor's living room. The air was thick with the smell of spices and that morning's cooking and the aroma of perfume that Hazan wore, which clung softly to every inch of fabric. Angel settled in, re-warming herself, munching quietly on the honey cakes stacked neatly on a plate on the table. Miskin, the tabby cat, curled up on the back of the sofa, his paws hanging down to touch the back of Angel's neck.

She was infinitely glad for Hazan, and even more-so when she made a meal. She hadn't seen the woman in years, but she greeted Angel like they'd only seen one another yesterday.

Angel had dragged herself back to North Carolina after the plane ride in from London weak, in pain, and hopeless and aimlessly wandering from one friend's house to another, each one demanding to know what happened to her and where in god's name she got that horrible scar.

They all asked so many questions.

It wasn't as if she expected them not to—she looked as if a butcher had taken a swing at her face. But the more she thought of how to explain, she less she wanted to tell. Eventually, when they asked too many times, she thanked them for letting her stay and moved on.

She had completely forgotten that Hazan had moved back to North Carolina; the two hadn't spoken since she left to see her family up North, and it caught Angel by surprise when she saw the tan woman watering her plants out on her front porch.

Hazan didn't ask questions. She took one look at Angel's face, a serene, warm look—not full of horror or wonder or pity—and asked her to come inside to eat. She took Angel to the hospital when her cough turned to pneumonia, and invited her to stay until she felt better.

Angel never left.

She was a kind woman who shared all she had. She'd been trying to rent out the other side of the duplex, but when Angel got out of the hospital, skinnier and half-there, she told her that if she kept the other side of the house tidy, that she could stay there until she could find a tenant to rent.

No one ever came to look at the house. Angel doubted than Hazan looked for anyone to rent anymore.

She sat on the couch, on her fourth cake, and Hazan brought her coffee in a small copper cup with a wooden black handle, placing it on the table in front of her. The woman seated herself across from Angel, sitting with a long sigh.

"You must stop this standing around in the rain, you are sick enough as it is," she said, not unkindly. "The doctors said you must rest."

"I am resting."

"Walking in the pouring rain for hours and not eating a good meal every night is not rest."

Angel smiled at her friend over the edge of the cup.

"I do eat well. When you're cooking, at least."

Hazan let out a loud, "Ha!"

"And I suppose you think I am going to cook for you forever? I am an old woman!"

"You're thirty-two, Hazan, you're not an old woman."

"Angela, I have been married, bought my own home, and I live alone with my cat. I am an honorary old woman."

Angel snickered, shaking her head. Miskin grumbled in his sleep behind her. Silence overtook them, and Hazan's jovial tone dropped from her voice.

"You are lingering like a ghost," she said softly.

Angel didn't look up from her coffee.

"Living like you do not exist will not change what has happened."

"I know," she said finally. "I'm just taking some time."

Hazan folded and unfolded her hands, then pushed herself up.

"Well then, you can take some time and finished the rest of those cakes before I eat them all myself and get fat like that one behind you."

Angel watched Hazan return to the kitchen, Miskin crawling down from his spot to walk over her lap.

She listened to the sound of the rain tapping against the windows, and cupped the warm drink in her hand. There was another sound outside, a car door slamming, which irritated her. Most people this far down from the shore weren't so arrogant and noisy. She stroked behind the cat's ear, leaning her head back on the couch.

The pitter-patter of the rain mingled with the sound of someone walking up the steps to the house, and Angel was on her feet immediately, her muscles tense. Hazan rarely had visitors, and no one came calling in the rain. The footsteps stopped short of the door. Her hand rested on her hip, pulling her black pocket knife from its hiding place.

She crept to the door, silent, her ears perked. A loud knock came at the door, an angry pounding that sent Angel's heart into her throat.

Hazan hurried into the room, drying her hands on a dish towel, mumbling in Turkish under her breath. Angel reached out in front of her, blocking her.

"I'll answer it," she said firmly, taking silent steps towards the door.

The pounding came again, and now Hazan was just as alarmed as Angel. She watched the girl closely, seeing the knife in her hand, and her arms went taught at her sides.

Angel grasped the handle and opened the door a crack, peering out at the shadow on the porch. Her breath hitched.

"Finally!" the man roared from the other side of the door.

He squinted at her, the torn side of her face hidden from view. He could have recognized those big grey eyes anywhere.

"Ange'! I knew I'd get to ya!" he chortled.

She slammed the door shut, the knife falling from her hand. She backed away, her ribcage tightening until she felt dizzy and her head numb and heavy.

No. Not him. Not now.

He yelled from behind the door, but Angel didn't go to answer him, only backed further into the living room as if she'd seen a ghost.

Murdoc pulled open the screen door, bursting into the living room with a growl, his face red from ear to chin in frustration.

"Ange', what the hell is your problem?!" he bellowed, staring Angel down.

The end of a broomstick shut him up.

He crumbled to the floor, crying out and rubbing his face where Hazan struck him between the eyes. She held her weapon aloft, her gaze fiery and hard.

"Who do you think you are, parading into my home and terrorizing this girl?"

He moaned, rubbing his face, his eyes screwed up tight in pain. She struck him again, smacking his leg hard, forcing another scream out of him.

"Stop! Stop you mad woman!" he cried, clutching his thigh.

"Get out of my house!" she commanded.

Angel hovered, feeling distant and numb, and though she tried to intervene, she felt as if she were running down a hallway in a dream—struggling at a snail's pace and never able to reach the end. She breached out of her trance, just long enough to say,

"He's okay, Hazan."

The woman halted, ready in mid-swing to hit him across the head. Murdoc coward on the floor, covering himself with his arms protectively. Angel glanced down at him, detached and blank, her chest swollen with such a strong feeling that she thought she might choke.

Hazan's brow crumpled under her silk scarf, but she lowered the broom, clutching it with both hands like a knight with a spear, ready to strike out at Murdoc if he made to hurt Angel.

He moaned, glancing up at the woman fearfully.

Angel managed to make her legs move, and she stood over the man, staring down at him. He didn't seem real.

Murdoc split his gaze between the two of them, his eyes darting suspiciously from one woman to the other, rubbing his tender skin.

"Nice welcoming party, Ange'. Only the best fer me," he muttered.

"What are you doing here?" she asked in an odd tone, her voice quiet and reserved.

He scrambled to his feet, groaning. He didn't look up at her, but brushed himself off, glaring down at his black shirt now covered in cat hair.

"Well it wasn't bloody easy finding you! Christ, I've been turning over every goddamn rock ta find you for over half a year, and I don't get as much as a 'hello'? Where'd yer famous manners go?"

She stared at him, her eyes cold. He faltered.

"Do I need a reason to be here?" he spluttered. "I was around, thought I'd pop in and see ya! Ya know, after you left and completely dropped off the grid without so much as a word my way!" he snarled. "I thought I'd come by and see if you were fuckin' dead, since I wouldn't know otherwise!"

Angel didn't look phased in the least. In fact, she stared right through him, as if he weren't really there. Hazan scowled, gripping the broom hard. She wanted to smack that insolent man's face right off his head. But, as he seemed to mean Angela no harm, and she wasn't shooing him away, she felt compelled to give him an inch of hospitality.

"I will go make some coffee," she said under her breath, not letting go of the yellow broom until she'd disappeared into the kitchen.

Murdoc's chest heaved as he took in angry breaths; but as he stood, glaring at Angel, his anger slipped away. Her face... His muscles went slack, and he couldn't help but gape a little. Whatever clever retort he had planned fell short. He wouldn't have recognized Angel if he hadn't heard her first. Angel felt her heart twitch under his stare, and she fought away a twinge of sadness. He couldn't look away from her face.

She looked... awful, even after all this time. A knot wound tight in his stomach, and he struggled for words. Angel's eyes darted away from his as he stared at the gaping scars covering her face.

"A-ah, I was... I was looking fer ya, you just took off like that..." he said, suddenly disarmed and feeling very small.

It was hard to look at her, but he couldn't help it. She looked nothing like he remembered, and even her gaze felt different. It unnerved him.

"Sit down," she said suddenly, and her voice startled him. It sounded older, now, and hoarse—as if it wasn't used very much.

He hesitated, but did as he was told and sat in a chair across from the couch, where Angel settled herself, not looking at the man. Miskin wandered over, sniffing Murdoc's boots lazily.

Every muscle in his body was rigid, and the longer Murdoc sat across from Angel in silence, the more he thought coming back was a mistake. She didn't look directly at him, but at his chest, not looking him in the eye. He was still fixed on the destroyed side of her face.

"Necrosis," she finally said, touching a finger to the healed gash across her cheek and jaw. "They said it was infected and they had to cut some off."

Murdoc figited.

She chuckled darkly.

"Still paying off the bill for that one," she said under her breath.

"I'll pay for it," he volunteered suddenly, looking oddly sincere when she looked up at him.

Angel shook her head slowly.

"No... that's okay."

Hazan hurried over, carrying a silver tray with small coffee cups and tiny bowl of sliced fruit and cheese. She set the tray down between them, eyeing Angel. The girl nodded, and Hazan nodded back. The woman glared down at Murdoc.

"Ah! Shoes off! Not in my house!" she chided.

Murdoc's brow furrowed.

"What are you talkin' about? I'm not takin' my boots off—"

"Shoes off, or eat outside!" she threatened.

She towered over him, her brown eyes burrowing into his skull with a furious stare. He submitted, reaching for his shoes.

"Alright! Alright, don't get yer scarf in a bunch," he growled.

Miskin watched him toss his boots over towards the door, then busily went to sniffing his socks. Hazan pursed her lips, but said nothing else to him, and returned to the kitchen. Angel could hear her muttering about Murdoc in Turkish.

"Sorry," Angel piped up. "She's protective."

Murdoc grumbled, staring down his coffee. He nosed at the copper cup, suspicious, and played with the pastries—anything to avoid looking Angel in the eye. He hadn't expected her to still look this bad, after this much time. The deep gouges were healed and grey now, but looked just as painful as when they were fresh. She looked as if she'd been mauled by a bear, or maybe thrown face-first into a meat grinder.

Her hair was cropped-off, dyed black and it fell around her face, pulled over a destroyed, gnarled eyebrow. Raised lines of scars riddled her entire face, like roots growing across her head. They stretched from her scalp down over her eye and nose, then others ran from her chin up across her lip, and a huge gouge created a crevice along her left cheek. The destruction was not limited to her face, but stretched in a long line down the length of her neck and collar bone. His eyes wandered to the edge of her shirt—he knew there was more beneath.

She grasped her own cup, taking a sip as her eyes darted away from his intense stare.

"So why are you really here?"

He jumped, then cleared his throat, rubbing his end of his nose nervously.

"Well, I thought I'd give you a _nice visit_, heheheheh..." he drawled, his laugh dropping off into a long groan when he saw how unamused Angel looked. "I, uh, I've got a limited number of acquaintances willing to take me in at the moment, so I, uh—"

"You decided to track down the last person you royally screwed over," she finished, taking a sip.

Murdoc scrambled for words.

"Well, I wouldn't put it THAT way..."

"I would."

He forced out a dry chuckle, feeling his muscles grow tense.

"Yer a... a little more cold than I remember, love."

"Almost dying will do that to you," she said with such a small smile that Murdoc almost missed it from behind her cup.

He attempted a smile back, which came out more as a lop-sided scowl. Angel turned her attention on a slice of peach. Miskin laid down on his feet.

He let out a long breath, his fingers drumming along the side of his cup anxiously. Maybe he'd made a mistake.

"…What trouble are you in now?"

His eyes glanced up at her from under his curtain of hair, and he welled up his most innocent look—or at least the closest to innocent he could manage.

"Nothing too big. Same old thing, actually. I was hoping you'd be alone," he said, peering over his shoulder to the kitchen.

Angel didn't bite. He was left trying to coax a smile out of her by wiggling his eyebrows suggestively under his hair. She was unresponsive. He deflated, his smirk dissolving into a frown.

"Look, I—" he started, but cut-off when Hazan came back into the room with a white mug, taking Angel's copper cup and replacing it.

"You should be drinking tea for that voice of yours," she said, handing off the steaming cup of mint tea.

"Thank you," she said quietly, taking it carefully.

Murdoc's eyes darted from the woman to Angel and back.

"What's, uh... what's wrong with your voice?"

"I got pneumonia right after I came back from Cambridge," she said, not looking at him. "I had a cough at Stu's, and it just kept getting worse until I couldn't breathe. The doctors were wondering why it took so long for me to get treatment," she added, a sharpness to her tone that made Murdoc twitch.

His voice was low as he spoke.

"Ange', I'm—I'm real sorry, but I couldn' take ya to the hospital."

"No, you thought it was better to drop me off like a wrapped package at 2D's doorstep and peel away without so much as a second thought, am I right?" she snapped, her grey eyes sudden staring daggers at him.

Murdoc froze, his lip curled back in an angry sneer.

"So you really did eat up that shit he spoon-fed ya, huh?" he snarled.

Angel's stare lingered a moment, then she glared into her cup.

"What are you talking about?"

"I'm talkin' about how you believed every lie he shoved down your throat. I mean, I know he can use those doe-eyes on stupid girls and they fall right for it. But you? Heh, I really thought you were above that, but I guess not," he spat.

"You left me for dead."

"I saved your fucking life!"

Murdoc leaned forward, his eyes narrowed and focused hard on Angel. Miskin grumbled and trotted away. He jabbed a finger at Angel.

"I carried ya up to D's flat! I cleaned you up! I gave you the morphine! I stitched yer fuckin' face up! I sewed it back together with dental floss! How could I know that if I left ya on D's doorstep?!"

She sat up straight, her eyes wide, but her lips drawn into a tense, thin line. His shoulders hunched up around his neck like he was ready to pounce on her in a fit of rage, his voice harsh and low.

"I did that! I did all of that! 2D did nothing but babysit! And he obviously didn't give you the antibiotic like I fucking told him or you wouldn't have gotten sick!"

He slammed his fist down on the table, making the plates clatter against the tray. Shaking, he took long, ragged breaths and bared his teeth in a wide grimace. Angel lowered her head to look down at her cup.

"Why did you leave me?" she asked quietly.

His sneer faded.

Hazan rushed into the room, the broomstick once again clutched in her strong hands.

"I think it is time for you to leave," she demanded, standing over Murdoc with a sharp look in her eye.

He spun around, stunned into silence. She motioned to the door with the end of the broom.

"I—No, I'm not through here!" he argued, getting to his feet.

"I think you are."

He looked over at Angel desperately, searching for some kind of defense, but she was looking down into her cup. His lips crumpled into a scowl.

"Fine," he spat.

Murdoc stormed to the doorway, shoving his boots on in an angry whirlwind, looking like a kid having a tantrum. He ripped the door open, still wiggling his ankle down into the brown leather boot.

"Bye, Ange'."

Angel finally glanced up, but by the time she opened her mouth, he slammed the door shut behind him.

Hazan leaned the broom against the chair, reaching down to collect the tray and the cups, muttering under her breath. Angel stood stone still, the mug gripped tightly in her hand. Hazan crouched beside her.

"Do you want to talk of something?" she asked cautiously. Angel was silent. "Who was that man?" the woman pressed.

Angel's eyes slid over to meet Hazan's, and she shook her head slowly.

"I'm really not sure anymore."

_(Author's Note:_

To keep everyone both on and deviant art up to date about DARE news, including the replacement of some chapters and extra DARE short stories not posted here, I've set up a DARE Tumblr.

You don't have to have an account to view the page, and you can add it to an RSS feed if you want.

Hopefully, it will make sure updates will get to everyone in a timely manner

I will still be posting chapters here, so no worries!)


	45. Chapter 45 Doing and Undoing

Angel fully expected never to see hide or tail of Murdoc again, the way he stormed off. But, there he was on her front porch the next morning.

He just gave her a million-dollar smirk when she let the screen door swing shut behind her, her face blank and unreadable. He was hiding something behind his back.

"What are you still doing here?" she asked, trying to peer around him. "I thought you were—"

"Furious? Angry? Enraged? Yeah, yeah I really was you tosser," he said with a nod. "But! I did some thinking, and before you make a snappy remark about that I'm gonna shut you up for a good long while."

With that, he shoved a misfit arrangement of odd flowers into her hands. It indeed shut her up. She held them carefully, staring down at their drooping petals. He sure knew how to pick them; they looked downright sad... The more she looked at them, the more she came to realize he quite literally did pick them… out of someone's garden. Some of them still had their roots with tiny clumps of dirt hanging down.

"Now," he said, as if she was supposed to be all-ears now. "I maaaay have overacted... A bit... Maybe... Though you were being quite a... Eh, yeah, anyways. How about you and me have a civil conversation, eh?"

Angel turned and set the bouquet on a folding chair, then walked up to him. Murdoc chuckled, splaying his arms wide.

"Ange'! I know yer just overcome with emotions, but please, try to—"

She shouldered past him, walking down the steps.

"—contain yourself..."

His arms drifted back to his sides, and he hurried down the blue stairs behind her.

"Eh... I realize we didn't really get off to a stellar start there, love, but I've been lookin' fer ya for a good long while! That should count for something, righ'?"

She kept walking, not even turning to glance back at him.

"Hey! At least you could look at me!" he snapped, rushing in front of her, his temper flaring.

She stared at him. He clenched his fists until his nails dug into his skin. Then, with a long exhale, he worked up a smirk and gestured to the street where a black Camaro was parked illegally next to a fire hydrant.

"Where are ya headed? I'll ride ya?"

Angel look him up and down for a moment, then side-stepped him and kept walking. Murdoc's arms went tense, but he fought the urge to spin around and punch her in the head, and instead he fell into step beside her.

"Or we could walk. You can work out those thighs of yours," he said with a cackle, nudging her with his elbow.

She gave him an odd look. He went silent, for a minute at least. He glanced around the quiet neighborhood, wrinkling his nose.

"What the hell do ya do fer fun around here, anyway? Besides play Bridge at the senior center, maybe..."

When she didn't answer, he glanced back at her, only to realize she'd crossed the street without him. He hurried along behind her, almost running into a man on a bike. Murdoc yelled at him at the top of his lungs.

"Watch where yer goin', ya florescent ponce! I should knock ya right off that thousand dollar bicycle, you blind tosser! Yeah, that's right, turn around! See what I'll do to ya! Oh shit, he did..."

Angel clapped a hand over his mouth and pulled him along calmly.

Murdoc grumbled under his breath, dragging his feet alongside Angel as she made her way into town.

"Fuckn' prick..."

She ignored him, but kept her pace slow so he didn't fall too far behind.

They turned the corner onto a busy strip of road, with cars passing inches from them. Murdoc backed up into the sandy grass next to Angel, brushing off his boots. He flapped the collar of his black shirt against his chest, the cotton clinging to his sweaty skin.

"How can ya be wearn' anything at all Ange'?!" he burst out suddenly. "Is it always this goddamn hot?!"

He snarled, rubbing his hand through his sticky hair, wiping the sweat from his forehead.

They walked along the road, Angel glancing up at all the summer condos she passed, going along at a slow pace, Murdoc slugging along. She was used to the heat, and welcomed it in comparison to the freezing cold meat locker Kong was.

Murdoc did not share her sentiments.

Suddenly, before they were even halfway down the road, he growled loudly and reached over his head to grab the back of his shirt, struggling to pull it over his head. Cars slowed down to watch his mad scramble. Angel watched him for a moment, but when he finally broke down into screaming curses at his shirt, she walked back to him and yanked the black top off of him.

He stumbled back, rubbing the back of his neck, his eyes darting sheepishly around. He snatched the shirt from her hands, grumbling what she assumed was a 'thank you' of some sort.

Angel felt her lips curl up into a small smile.

It went unnoticed as Murdoc glared at a van of teenage boys that passed extra slow, giggling at the man.

Whatever clever retort he was about to disturb the peace with went unsaid when he realized Angel was eyeing him. He smirked, opening his arms wide.

"Oh, you forgot what you were missin'? What a real man looks like?" he drawled, a smirk spreading across his face.

Angel was less concerned about him being shirtless and more concerned about his waistline. Although his paunch was constant, she could see his ribs easily. He was painfully thin compared to the last time she saw him shirtless...

Her gaze lingered for a moment, then she turned and kept walking, taking off her sandals as she made her way along the grass. He scowled, gripping the shirt hard in his fist, and kept marching along behind her.

By the time they reached the sandy stairs leading up a dune—Angel's destination—Murdoc was a mess. He was coated in sweat and did nothing but complain endlessly about the heat and his skin getting greener, but Angel barely noticed his muttering. She waited for him at the top, watching passively as he struggled his way up the steps, panting. He was in horrible shape—nothing like when they were running for their lives from the men at Kong. He ran so fast then...

She shook her head.

His skin was more red than green by the time he caught up with her, his face flushed from heat and exhaustion. The dark rings around his eyes were an unhealthy greyish-purple from lack of sleep. All and all, he was a pitiful sight, and was showing every year of his age.

Angel waited for him to catch his breath, but as soon as he stopped gasping, she began the trek down the sand towards the beach. Murdoc coughed out a groan.

"You... you dragged me up here for a bloody beach? You live at the beach! Haven't you had enough of the goddamn beach!?"

His complaints fell on deaf ears. Moaning, he bent down, pulling his boots and socks off, trying desperately not to get sand on either. He scrambled along the hot ground behind her.

"Hey, you wanna slow down? The ocean will still be there!"

Angel stifled a laugh—he sounded like a father chiding his daughter for rushing him.

Despite it being a beautiful, hot day, there weren't many people on the beach. For that, Angel was thankful. At that point, Murdoc's mutterings weren't safe for small ears... She stood down beside the water, her hands clasped behind her back.

He struggled over to her, dropping his boots down on the sand, giving up on keeping them clean. He panted beside her, staring out at the water like her, hoping to see what she found so interesting.

"What, what is it? What're we here for? Is someone drowning? Because that would be lovely to watch right about now..."

Angel didn't say anything, but just stood there, holding her shoes, letting the water come up around her ankles. It took hefty willpower, but Murdoc managed to stand there beside her for a moment, completely silent, and just stared out at the ocean with her.

That was, until his boots came drifting past him in the current, getting sucked out to sea. He went scrambling after them, yelling at the ocean with the worst possible curses he could think of, reaching desperately for his left boot. Angel couldn't hold in her laughter, and fell backwards into the sand, laughing until she coughed.

Murdoc steamed, holding a shoe in each hand, his socks completely gone, gritting his teeth together. Whoever was laughing at him was going to be one sorry fuck, he thought bitterly.

But when he looked up to Angel, he found his anger slipping away. She was literally on the ground in fits of giggles, holding her sides. Her laugh was loud and clear and clean, and it made him falter, holding his boots in the tide like a fool.

"Y-you think this is funny?" he finally cried, shaking his shoes angrily. "These are real leather! They cost more than my car!"

That seemed to make Angel laugh even harder. Murdoc stomped out of the water, shaking sand out of one boot, then the other, until he threw them down onto the ground viciously.

Angel's laughs died to hiccups, and she wiped tears from her eyes. Murdoc made an indignant noise.

"Well I hope yer fuckin' happy."

She sat up, making her way over to him, hovering at his legs. His eyebrows shot up under his hair as she knelt down, his muscles going tense. She reached for the ends of his soaked pant legs, rolling them up so that he didn't get his jeans totally drenched in the water. He let out a disappointed sigh, restraining the urge to push her face just a little closer...

He glanced down, and she was looking up at him with a wary expression. He cracked a guilty smirk.

She got to her feet, brushing the sand off her bare knees, and she suddenly turned her back on him, continuing down the beach. He waivered a moment, then grabbed up his boots and hurried along behind her.

Angel took a slow pace along the shore, stopping suddenly to pick up and examine a shell or a stone, then putting it back, or tossing it into the surf. Murdoc tried, and failed miserably, to stop on any sand crabs that came his way. His irritation grew the more Angel ambled and took her time. Where the hell was she going anyway? Why did she drag him all the way down to the beach to look at some fucking rocks?

He scowled. If he was being honest—which he rarely was, especially to himself—he was the one that followed her, so he could have left at any time. It frustrated him even more than he didn't...

He dragged his feet in the sand behind her, grumbling to himself, but she didn't seem to notice. The only thing she seemed interested in was sticking small pieces of smooth, colored glass into her pockets. It baffled him—he could've given her plenty of broken glass if she asked for it. He didn't see what was so special about these ones...

The wind was picking up, and it blew his hair around in his eyes. He tried desperately to shield his face, but that ended up just getting sand in his hair and eyes. His grumbling intensified.

Angel turned around suddenly, and he almost walked directly into her. She plucked a barrette from her hair and approached him with it, pinning his fringe away from his forehead. He stared daggers at her.

"Yeah, if I didn't look like a big enough prat before," he snarled.

But Angel just turned her back on him, not saying a word. He growled, rubbing his forehead, but, he grudgingly admitted, it kept his hair out of his eyes.

Angel's hair flew into her eyes instead, but she didn't seem to mind.

Murdoc glanced up at the increasingly overcast sky, which turned from blue to grey in a matter of minutes. He turned to look up the beach as people started packing up and heading for the boardwalk.

"Hey Ange', I think that's our cue ta get goin'."

Either she didn't hear him, or she was ignoring him, but she just kept walking as if nothing had changed—stopping to look at shells and dip her feet in the seafoam.

"Did ya hear me, Ange'?" he said louder. "I said I think it's time to goooo!"

But his urging didn't change Angel's mind, and she kept walking, leaving Murdoc behind her as she marched barefoot along the shore.

He glanced anxiously over his shoulder to the people leaving in droves, but he followed behind despite his better judgment.

Angel was stopped a ways down the beach, looking out over the sea, a small smile on her face. Murdoc came up beside her.

"What're you all smiles about, girlie?" he asked with a snort.

She didn't answer him, but a loud clap of thunder overhead did. He flinched, nearly dropping his boots. He looked out over the water, the waves getting higher and the ocean growing rough.

"Er, not to spoil yer fun, and—not that I'm any weatherman—but I think it's gonna start—"

A raindrop plopped down on his head. She smiled over at him.

"What, you want to stand in the rain?" he asked, irritation in his voice. "That's what you dragged my down 'ere for?"

She glanced over at him, and he let out a huge groan.

"Well that's fantastic! If I wasn't soaked enough!"

Obliging him, rain started coming down, thunder rumbling gently over the ocean. He ground his teeth together in anger. Angel, however, just watched the sheets of rain moving slow over the sea, almost as if she didn't notice getting wet.

She was in her own, slow-moving world, as always, as it had always been since she came back. Without any notice of anything around her, Angel drifted randomly to her will. She went about at a walk while everyone else around her ran.

Murdoc's grumbling suddenly pierced the veil of her world, and she looked down at him. He sat on his shoes, his chin buried between his knees, his feet dug into the wet sand. His hair stuck to his face, and washed the barrette down to the end of his fringe. Water dripped down his bare back. He looked absolutely miserable.

Angel felt something move inside her.

She knelt beside him, and he glanced at her out of the corner of his eye. She felt him twitch in surprise when her hand came down on his shoulder, and she stood, pulling him up with her.

"What, what now? You want to go for a dip? Go parasailing, what?"

Angel's hand slipped silently into his, wrapping around his palm and gripping him tight. He glanced down at her touch, confused. She smiled, and dragged him along.

Their roles reversed, Murdoc followed Angel along the shore, tagging along behind her as she led him.

Angel stopped in town when they got off the shore. She bought Murdoc a new pair of dry socks and an umbrella, which he complained was too big and that he didn't like the color, and that the socks were going to get wet from his boots, but she ignored him and dragged him along anyway. He held the umbrella over his head, Angel just out of reach, and the rain fell on her, but she didn't care.

He stayed outside while Angel ran inside a coffee shop, pulling out a pack of Lucky Lungs from his pocket which managed to stay dry. He already had the cigarette in his mouth when he realized he had no lighter. Growling, he glanced around, spotting a girl standing under an awning across the street.

Calling to her, he rushed over.

Angel stood at the café's counter, waiting for her order. She didn't have a whole lot of money left, but she figured it was the least she could do for him after making Murdoc walk around in the rain. Two dark roast coffees—she remembered the sugar in his. It surprised her, that even after going half a year without him as a regular at the breakfast table, she still remembered how he took his coffee…

Thanking the woman, she grabbed up the cups and turned, glancing out the window. She stopped in mid-step.

Murdoc was across the street, standing with a pretty girl, holding the umbrella over her pretty head to keep her dry. He was smiling and smoking, and apparently said something funny, as they both broke out into a fit of laughter. He pointed at the girl, and Angel couldn't tell what he was saying, but when she took out a piece of paper and a pen from her purse, it was obvious. She scribbled something down and he slid the paper into his back pocket. He smiled and she pulled her long brown hair behind her ear.

Angel felt sick.

She stood at the window, her chest full to bursting, and even though she could hear screaming ringing in her ears, everything was deathly quiet.

She slipped out the front door without looking over him, and she kept on walking. She didn't stop until she was at the steps of her house, soaked from head to toe. She knocked on Hazan's door, and when the woman answered, she thrust Murdoc's coffee into her hand without a word, and dragged her feet over to her own door.

"Angela, is something wrong?" she asked, worry in her tone.

"No," she said in a quiet voice, opening her door. "I just went on an enlightening walk. Nothing new."

"Would you like to come in?"

"No thanks," she said, slipping inside, locking the door behind her.

The flowers on the chair outside washed away in the storm.

Murdoc went back to standing outside the café, checking his watch. She was taking a long time… Frustrated, he poked his head inside.

"Hey Ange', I know yer slow, but I mean—"

He stopped suddenly and took a glance around at the stunned customers inside. Not one of them looked a lick like Angel.

He took off, trying to remember how to get back to her house.


	46. Chapter 46 Peace Treaty

"ANGE'!"

He listened at the door, pressing his ear to the wood. Growling, he screamed out again,

"ANGELA OPEN THE DOOR!"

He panted, pounding on the door ferociously. He didn't hear Hazan walk out onto the porch, a floral dressing gown wrapped tight around her. She leaned against her screen door.

"I don't know what you did, but you should probably go home," she said, talking over his shouts.

He spun around, glaring at her.

"I didn't do a fucking thing!" Murdoc yelled, his hands balled into fists. "I was standing outside in the goddamn rain wait'n fer her, and then she was gone! She ditched me!"

"Are you sure?" she asked, unconvinced.

"Yes I'm fucking sure! All I did was pop over the street to…"

Murdoc came to a screeching halt, standing silent.

"Oh…"

"Oh?" Hazan added.

Quietly, he looked around, biting his lip.

"I wasn't even over there for a minute," he muttered under his breath. "Not a big goddamn deal."

Hazan shifted, making to go back inside.

"Like I said, you should go home."

And she left him alone, standing on the porch in the rain, watching his flowers slide off the raised porch in water. He felt very small.

Defensive, he began to pace in small circles, bickering with himself.

"She shouldn't be so goddamn touchy. I was only talkin' to that broad a minute! A minute! Well… maybe more than a minute… But I didn't do nuthin' wrong! Stupid girl… It wasn't like I shagged her!"

Not yet, at least, he added in his head. He kicked at nothing.

"Stupid Muds, what're ya doin' that right in front of 'er for? Ya could've at least made sure she wasn't lookin'… She's a sneaky girl."

Angel settled back down in bed. Murdoc had finally stopped yelling, and she felt herself relax; although, sleep was far, far away from her now. It wasn't late, only about dinner time, but she wasn't hungry, and she certainly wasn't in the mood to play into Murdoc's game. She'd had enough of him for the day, and probably more than she ever needed period.

She laid across the mattress in her clothes—not caring enough to change—her face buried in her pillow. She felt like she was twelve again, depressed that her grade school crush didn't give her a card on Valentine's Day or something. She felt stupid and embarrassed and angry; angry most of all, and more angry at herself than at him.

It wasn't a surprise. How _could_ she have been surprised? It wasn't as if she hadn't seen him with other girls, or seen him flirt or work his charm on other women. It wasn't a shock.

Angel stared at her white walls. What shocked her was just how fluid he was—had she really made such a small impression? All the time she'd spend with him and the favors she'd done meant nothing. It was as if she couldn't keep his attention for any length of time. Even her literal pound of flesh bought her no time. He'd said he was looking for her all this time, but maybe she wasn't what he was expecting anymore. She could kick him around or treat him like a king, it didn't seem to matter. Nothing could keep them together for longer than a day.

Her head buzzed.

Half of her wanted to go out looking for him to go scream in his face and give him a good kick to the ribs. Her other half wanted to pack a bag and go far away, somewhere where he couldn't find her. She doubted someplace like that existed—he seemed determined to find her no matter where she went.

Did she even want him around? She ran a hand through her short hair. It wasn't as if he was the wisest choice of friend; she'd been paranoid since he showed up. Every noise she heard in the night was the Black Clouds, and every stranger that passed by her window was a threat.

Angel's eyes narrowed—what childish thoughts, she suddenly realized. She was worried about where Murdoc was spending the night, all the while, she knew the real reason he'd returned.

She had hoped maybe it was—at least partially—out of affection, but she knew the true reason was that he was scared for his own hide, and nothing more. There was no other reason. There never was, and there never would be, and any hope for something more was a pitiful attempt to make herself feel better about the fact that her heart still fluttered when he looked at her.

She wondered how long it would be until he was in such big trouble that she couldn't ignore him any longer.

She pulled the covers over her head.

She really didn't want to know. She wrapped herself up—sighing. Maybe he would leave by himself…

He swore under his breath, struggling to find purchase against the wall, dragging himself upwards, his legs kicking off from the trashcans.

With a great struggle, he managed to claw his way onto the second-floor roof of the blue house, panting. If she wasn't coming to him, well then he was just going to have to come to her. He'd waited a couple hours, until the rain let up, but he came straight back, checking all the doors. These windows were the only options… Tip-toeing, he glanced into the window, squinting in the dark to see inside. He cupped his hands to his eyes. He could make out Angel on her bed inside; or who assumed was Angel. He doubted anyone else slept in such a bizarre position, with her leg hanging over the side of the mattress and her arms splayed out over the pillows like a cross. He snorted.

He braced himself against the window frame, his knees digging into the rough shingles of the roof, and worked the window open. Cautiously, he peered inside, parting the curtains with a calloused hand. Angel laid on her side, her unfamiliar face relaxed and calm, black hair falling around her in a shadowy wreath.

Murdoc crouched on the windowsill, carefully, quietly taking a step inside, his boot making a soft noise against the carpet. With both feet firmly on the ground, he hovered a moment, wondering what exactly he planned on doing. He hadn't thought about what he was going to do once he was inside, only that he knew he wanted to get in.

A thousand thoughts flooded him at once, and he had the urge to just fall over her and wake her up with his body pressed against her and a bite to the neck. And she'd wake and look at him with that soft face she used to have and she'd forget about being angry and he'd do all sorts of filthy things to her. He shook himself. As tempting as it was, he couldn't imagine that ending well for him, or his crotch.

His eyes lingered on her in the darkness, but he stayed where he was, awkwardly swaying in place in the corner. Gathering his confidence, he edged towards her.

The next thing he knew, he was on his back, something pressed hard into his cheek. Angel was upon him, her eyes wide, her mouth screwed up into a deep-set scowl. She was wild and panicked, the barrel of her silver gun jabbed so firmly into his skin, her expression resolute; he thought she was already pulling the trigger.

"Holy fuck! Ange' it's me! Don't—!"

A switch flicked in her head, and she sat up on his chest, pulling the gun away. He rubbed his skin desperately, hyperventilating.

"What in Satan's bloody name was that for?!" he yelled, backing away from her on his hands.

She struggled for words, still clutching the handgun in her fist.

"I-I'm sorry… I keep it under my pillow in case—"

"In case what, hm?! In case you get the chance to put a bullet in my brain?! I mean I know I pissed ya off a little, but Christ!"

"In case it's not you coming in through my window!" she hollered, her face serious.

Murdoc stared up at her, one hand still on his cheek. She turned the gun to the floor as she switched the safety on, gripping the handle tight in her hand, her temper boiling over. She got right over him, her muscles tense.

"I'm waiting for the day I wake up in the trunk of some guy's car! Or worse!"

He stood, adjusting his jacket, his brow furrowed as he glanced away from her.

"They don't even know where you are."

"I don't know that! I don't know if they want me, or anyone remotely close to you!" she snapped. "I called Stu a hundred times to make sure he was okay! That they didn't get to him!"

Murdoc froze, staring blankly at her, his arms falling back to his sides.

"You call 2D?"

"Don't get started—"

"No!" he cut her off with a snarl. "You call 'D ta make sure he's all well and good, but you don't ever think 'Oh! Since Murdoc's the one they're after, maybe I'll give him a ring and see how he's bloody doing'?! Or maybe 'Hey, I wonder if he's even fucking alive'?!"

"I thought you left me for dead!"

"Well I didn't!"

"And I'm starting to wonder why!" she yelled. "Definitely not for my personality, or out of the kindness of your shallow little heart!

He looked stricken, his face falling into a slack stare.

"And now, you're crawling back to me, saying you've run out of places to hide. What am I supposed to think?! That you're running from rabid fans? That the tax collector's after you?" Her arms went tense, her voice growing louder. "I'm your motherfucking human shield! That's all I am to you! What in God's name made you think I wanted you to drag me back into this?!"

"I thought…" he muttered under his breath, then moved his mouth with no sound escaping.

Angel's hard, hellish eyes ran over him, cold and flat. Murdoc felt as if he was under a microscope, and he began to fidget.

"You did this to me," she spat, jabbing a finger at the mountainous scars slashed over her cheeks. "Maybe not with your own hand, but you left me to get whatever they decided to do with me. If you'd had the balls to turn around and get me, I wouldn't look like this now!"

Silence settled over the two of them, Murdoc staring intently at something invisible in the corner, his pupils shrinking by the second. He played with his fingers, panic beginning to set in. Suddenly a deep sigh came from Angel, and he glanced up at her nervously.

"But, then again, if you had, we'd both probably be in the ground with a bullet between our eyes," she admitted quietly, her anger leaving her with a long breath.

Angel's eyes softened then, and she looked away from him, placing the gun beside her as she sat down on the edge of the bed. Her muscles unclenched, a long sigh escaping from her.

She was quiet for what felt like hours, just staring at the carpet. Murdoc shifted from foot to foot, debating whether or not it was prudent to speak.

"And as much as I hate it…" she finally piped up, "I was glad to see you show up. Well, glad to see you weren't carved up like me." She paused, glancing away from him. "I wasn't sure I wanted to know how you were doing. Stu said you were alive, so… that was what was important."

Murdoc pulled away from the wall, taking a cautious step forward. He waivered, then approached her carefully until he was right in front of her. She looked up at him with her pale grey eyes, and the iciness in her gaze was gone. He felt himself relax.

She looked down and ran her hands through her black hair, which fell around her face in messy locks, blue beginning to creep through at the roots. He tilted his head to one side.

"I prefer black on me. It's not your color," he said snidely, with a broad smirk.

Her laugh came out in a hoarse cough, as if she hadn't laughed in a long time.

"It was the only shade that would cover. You think I like looking like you?" she asked, a coy look on her face.

Murdoc snickered.

"People would kill their own mothers to look like me, babe. You should be grateful."

She smiled a crooked, tame grin up at him, and the tension between them melted away, and suddenly it was as if they'd never been apart.

"I missed you."

His voice was quiet in the dim room, and Angel's head snapped up to him, her expression falling.

"You're lying," she said warily. "You don't miss anybody."

He stared back down at her, his face stern and serious. Angel watched him quietly, then glanced down at her hands folded softly in her lap.

"Um, I'm sorry, that was really mean," she conceded. "I just…"

She laced her toes together, her nerves suddenly eating at her. She felt a stone drop into her stomach, and she felt very exposed under his stare—his old power had clawed its way back over her, and her momentary dominance over him was forgotten.

"I don't know what to do with you, Muds," she admitted.

Silence settled in again, a familiar echoing nothing that made Angel feel as if a threshold had been crossed. He hovered in front of her, looking blank and unreadable.

"I just," she started in a small voice that didn't sound as if it were her own. "I don't think you understand."

She looked him in the eye, and for a moment, he saw the girl who had stumbled into his home and fought for his attention and dogged his every step, wading in his shadow. The girl that begged for recognition with everything she did and never gave in no matter how much crap he piled on her. His stomach twisted in a sickening way, and he had to glance away from her. She wrung her hands in her lap.

"I don't think you understand and I don't think you ever will."

"I'm not a sociopath, ya know? As much as you think I am," he spat. "I'm not stupid, either."

"Look at me and tell me you came back because you wanted to see me, and not because I was your last resort," she demanded.

He glanced down at her and managed to hold her gaze for a moment, but then looked away again, grinding his boots into the carpet. Angel re-examined her nails.

"I figured."

His skin itched.

"Hey, it's not like I hate you or anything! You're makin' it sound like I don't wanna be here!"

She snickered.

"You wouldn't be here otherwise. I would've just disappeared like every other girl."

"Maybe I came for an exceptional shag. I just couldn't stay away," he said with a wide smirk.

"We had sex once," Angel snorted, her face flat and humorless.

"Spine-tingling, let me tell you."

"Don't bother with flattery, Muds, I don't like to be bullshitted."

She stood, taking up the gun. Murdoc danced away from her, wary. She circled the bed, tucking it in the band of her shorts at her back, covering it with her shirt. Angel put her hands on her hips, glancing back at him.

"Where are you staying?" she asked suddenly.

"Eh, a hotel… about a twenty minute drive from 'ere."

"You can spend the night here, if you want."

Murdoc stared in open confusion, his brow wrinkled.

"I thought you hated my guts," he said flatly. "Now you want me in your bed?"

Her lips curled up, and she shook her head slightly.

"Like I said, you don't get it."

She pulled her shorts up, walking over to the closet.

"You can sleep in my bed, I'll sleep on the couch downstairs."

She pulled put an extra pillow and sheet, throwing them over her shoulder. Murdoc stood awkwardly in the middle of the room, struck dumb. He scrambled for words.

"Wha…what, that's it?"

"That's it."

His eyes darted from her to the bed and back, his confusion growing into frustration.

"You're not going to say anything? Yer just gonna go downstairs and expect me to stay up here?"

"That's the long and short of it," she said, opening the door.

He shook his head with a humorless chuckle, walking up to her.

"Hold on, can't ya just come here for a second? I haven't seen you in a long time. I'd like to have a nice, long conversation with you," he said with a seductive eyebrow wiggle and matching smirk.

He reached out to grab her wrist, only to find Angel completely rigid under his grip. She turned suddenly, her free hand flinching towards the gun. Her pupils were tiny, her face serious.

"Don't. Touch. Me."

Her voice was unfamiliar and low, and it made Murdoc let go in an instant, his skin tingling with fear.

"A-alright, love, not touching!"

"I mean it."

"Okay!" he agreed in a surprisingly small voice.

She relaxed somewhat, the air charged with tension around her.

"…I'll be downstairs if you need anything."

Murdoc watched her disappear down the stairs, shaken. He hovered in the empty room, considering jumping back out the window, but fought his better instincts and stayed-put. He glanced around. Her room was minimalistic: no pictures or knick-knacks hanging around. There was a bed, a stout little dresser, a few pieces of clothes on the floor, and a table with little, smooth pieces of colored glass and shells on the top.

It was as if he'd just moved in yesterday, not half a year ago. No jewelry, no personal items, not even any music sitting around. It was like she was ready to leave at any minute. It looked more like a hotel room than someone's bedroom.

He opened up the drawers of the dresser, snooping through her plain-looking clothes. He sorted through her underwear, snorting when he couldn't find anything particularly lacey or interesting, and shut the drawer in disappointment.

He moved on to the table, picking up the pieces of glass. He still didn't understand why she wanted them. Making sure he invaded every inch of her privacy, he took a quick look under the bed, finding only dust balls and a lone shoe, then threw open the closet with a bored sigh. Some blankets, her empty bag, snow boots. Boring.

He pushed past the linens to find a box underneath. Leaving the door open, he threw the box open the bed, casually tossing the lid on the floor. Murdoc stared down at the blue dress inside blankly. He took in a large breath, and let it out through his mouth in a half-groan, half-sigh.

He was hoping she'd have gotten over him by now. Lust, he could deal with. But this… He rubbed his hands over his face in exasperation. This was going to take some careful untangling, and it was going to take a good long time. Tossing the lid back over the box, he turned on his heel to the door.

Why did everything have to be so difficult?

She'd left the blanket and pillow on the couch and the wooden front door open behind her on her way out to the porch. Murdoc pushed open the screen door, stepping out onto the deck without a word. His boots made a soft click against the wood as he sided up next to her. Angel didn't look back at him, but kept staring out in the dark across the street, standing in her pajamas and bare feet, the gun still tucked into the waistband of her shorts. He pulled a box of Lucky Lungs and a lighter from his pocket, leaning on the railing.

Silently, he offered the open box to her, not making eye contact. She paused, then took a cig from the box, letting Murdoc light it for her. He tucked the pack back into his jacket pocket.

"You smoke now?" he said, smog shooting out from between his jagged teeth.

She let the puff of smoke fall out of her open mouth.

"Since I came back. It helps me forget the pain a little," she admitted quietly. "It gives me something to do. Hazan doesn't like it."

His eyes lingered on her a moment, then turned away.

"You in a lot of pain?" he asked, trying to sound casual.

"Not as much now as when it was fresh. I've learned to ignore it."

"You don't take anything?"

"Would you?" she said with a morbid little chuckle.

"I'd be on a constant morphine drip," he laughed, with a slight cough. "On one of those rolling stands."

She snickered, scratching her head.

"I don't like taking pain killers, they make me fuzzy. Stu gave me some when I left, but only took a couple when I was really desperate."

His expression fell and he rolled his eyes.

"Ya know, you don't have to act all courteous callin' him Stuart. He's 2D."

She glanced over at him skeptically.

"I asked him and he said you named him that. And when he told me why, I asked what his real name was, and he seemed to like being called Stuart instead of Two-Dents."

He blew out a ring of smoke in irritation, scowling.

"Why don't you call him 'Your Fucking Majesty' while you're at it?"

Taking the cigarette between his fingers, he shot her a sideways glance.

"So, you still angry with me about the girl?"

"No, not angry, just disappointed."

He scratched at his forehead, turning his eyes downwards.

"You know I'm not exactly… Eh, heheh… I'm not really a one-woman man, so if you were expecting a wedding ring… Yer outta luck with me."

She laughed at that, smoke coming out her nose and mouth as she cracked a smile.

"I'm not expecting you to change into the model of faithfulness, Murdoc. It's just… a lot to take in at once. I'm not really used to… sharing someone. Get it?"

He nodded, although he didn't really understand.

"I guess. But if you're going to get… emotionally invested…"

"I'm not that stupid."

He didn't say anything. Murdoc looked down into the bushes, kicking the tip of his boot against the railing. He waivered, unsure of how to proceed, silently wrestling with his conscience and ego without coming up with a clear winner. He fidgeted uncomfortably.

"Listen… About what happened, back at Kong… I—"

"You don't have to say anything," she interrupted.

A long puff of smoke leaked from his mouth instead of words. Carefully, hesitantly, he raised his hand to hover it over Angel's back. She flinched away. He patted her lightly on the shoulder, and her muscles relaxed.

"Er… Do you want to… talk?" he asked awkwardly.

"Not now," she said softly.

They breathed out clouds of silver smoke and stared out into the hot night. For once, Murdoc didn't feel like driving the constant knife he had in Angel's chest any deeper, and kept his venom and sarcasm to himself, remaining quietly.

As he rubbed small circles into her back, they understood one another, and the silence was enough.


	47. Chapter 47 The Blue House

It was hot and sticky even late at night. Moisture clung to the wood, and the air felt thick and heavy, like the ocean. Murdoc finished his cigarette, flicking the stub onto the deck and stomping it out with his boot. Angel sat on the railing, staring out at the late fireflies lazily drifting through the yard.

"How can you stand it bein' so hot 'ere?" Murdoc complained, striping off his shirt, tossing the sweaty thing over his shoulder so it flopped against the door.

"Better than freezing to de—"

She stopped suddenly, quickly turning away and taking the last drag of her cigarette. Murdoc pretended not to notice.

"You got anything to drink?" he asked, leaning up against the railing next to her.

Angel felt something move in her chest; a friendly calm had settled over them, something that had rarely happened at Kong between the fighting and the yelling.

"Yeah, I have red wine in the cupboard. You want some?"

"Grab the bottle, I've got some Morgan in the car."

She chuckled a soft, nice laugh.

"You're a rolling liquor store, aren't you?"

"Only the finest!" he called back, already halfway to the Camaro.

Angel hesitated at the door, then disappeared inside. She felt the carpet squish under her bare feet, and the smell of Hazan's perfume lingering in the living room. She could feel waves of heat flooding over her, and she could hear the faint sound of tourists roaming the streets in the distance. It was like she was coming up for a breath of air. Had everything been so... here, before? So close?

She grabbed the bottle, not bothering with cups, and went back out onto the deck, pulling at the cork with a corkscrew. Murdoc shut the trunk with a muted bang, waving a bottle in his hand.

Angel took a short sip from the red-glass bottle, taking up her perch on the railing, and Murdoc leaned beside her.

"So what have you been doing?" he asked, after finishing a much longer drink than her. "Other than dying your hair black and taking up smoking and drinking. Are you trying to impersonate me? Frankly, you're not giving it as hard of a try as I'd like."

Angel cracked a smile over the mouth of the bottle.

"Nothing really. Nothing interesting at least. I'm sure you've got a much better story than me," she mumbled.

"Ah! Now yer soundin' a lot more like dear old Murdoc! Aversion: lesson one on becoming a Grade-A liar like myself. So what have you actually been doing?"

Angel didn't look at him, but took another short sip. His smirk crumpled.

"Not tellin', eh? I'll just have to assume the worst then. You've been on a drug-fueled binge this whole time, stealing from old ladies and public fountains, paying off yer heroin habit by having mass orgies with middle-aged women, and eating out of bins. Am I right?"

"Is that an autobiography?"

"More or less, nix the heroin. Speed was more my deal back in the day," he said with a wide smirk.

Angel's eyebrows shot up, and she said with a half-laugh, "That explains a lot."

"Like my stellar personality?"

"If that's what you'd like to call it."

Angel glanced upwards at the few stars puncturing through the hazy, black night. It seemed unreal, the calmness. The absence of paranoia and fear that one man or the other would come barreling through her door in the middle of the night; one of them was already here. The world felt filled, balanced, like an old wrong had been righted, though something still scraped at the back of her mind, telling her this was not a good idea. She stepped on the thought and kicked it away, not wanting to look at it now, or ever if she could help it.

Murdoc was already halfway through his bottle; he seemed to be drinking even more than usual, if it was possible. He reached over, putting his hand on her knee. Angel jumped and jerked away, out from under his touch. Murdoc's grin turned into a tight-lipped line, his eyebrows furrowing. But he didn't press the point and let his hand swing down to the railing.

"You been seein' any good-fer-nothin' boys behind my back?" he joked, but Angel wondered if there was anything to his comment.

Either way, his comment soothed the tension, and Angel relaxed again, tapping her fingers along the side of the wine bottle.

"Oh, tons. Gang members, bikers, Catholic boys."

"Oh, the horror! I mean gangsters are one thing, but Catholic boys? How desperate are you?"

"Not very."

"So I'll take that as a 'no', then?"

She took another drink.

"I'd think that'd be obvious."

He shrugged, sloshing what was left of his rum around in the bottom of the bottle.

"Yer a young, pretty bird. You should be out havin' fun! Not waitin' fer old men ta show up," he said with a snide smile.

Angel fidgeted; he wasn't being entirely sarcastic.

"I'm not waiting for anybody," she said seriously.

There was a silence between them, and Murdoc tilted the bottle upside down, draining it. He set it on the deck, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.

"I'm all out. I'm gonna run down ta get some more."

Angel hurried off the railing as Murdoc went to grab his shirt.

"Now?"

"No, in a fortnight!" he grunted, pulling his head through the hole. "Yeah, now!"

"You think that's a good idea?"

He turned to glance up at her, already halfway down the steps. He cocked his eyebrows under his hair, grinning.

"I'm not bein' tailed. Unclench, alrigh'? I'll just be gone a few minutes. Maybe pop some of 2D's pills while I'm out, do us both a favor," he said with a smile.

He waved at her as the got into the front seat and drove away without any more discussion, and Angel was left sitting alone on the deck, watching the car slink off into the darkness. She took a long swig and disappeared inside.

Angel had always been good at waiting before; she had patience enough for two people. But as she sat on the couch, staring at the front door, waiting endlessly for the mop-haired bassist to come swaggering back in with his drinks, she felt like she wanted to jump out of her skin. More than once she reached around to the gun still safely tucked into the back of her waistband, just to make sure it was still there.

She drummed her feet against the carpet, rubbing her bare arms, unable to keep still as she stared at the door. He'd been gone a while. She checked the clock—almost an hour. Angel took a long breath through her nose. He wasn't used to this area, it was probably taking him a long time to figure out where he was. She should have gone with him.

But the rest of her clung desperately to the idea that he'd been caught, or worse, or that someone just out of sight had been waiting for Murdoc to take off... Her skin prickled horribly.

She got up, pacing the living room at first, then taking tours through the kitchen, then rounds up and down the stairs just to keep herself busy. After her fourth lap around the bedroom, she stalked into the bathroom, opening up the medicine cabinet. She hadn't put on her scar cream since yesterday, and it gave her something to do with her hands.

She rubbed the pale yellow cream onto the white and pink divets, the smell of peppermint flooding her nose. A cool tingling pin-pricked over the skin around the scars, but she felt nothing in the deep gash where the doctors had cut away her cheek.

She breathed in the cool scent, capping the tube back up. She doubted that the cream would help, but it felt good on her itching skin and it smelled good, so there wasn't anything for her to lose.

Closing the cabinet door, Angel stared into the mirror that reflected a face she still hadn't grown used to. She pawed through her showing roots—she needed to dye her hair again. Maybe another color this time, maybe cut it even shorter; anything to keep her from being noticed, although her pulverized face made that difficult. Though the men who cut her up were dea... She felt sick at the thought. She'd shot a man. Dead. She shook her head, as if it would shake loose the thought, and steeled herself. It had to be done. He would have killed her. He would have killed Murdoc. She had to keep telling herself that.

A soft bang resonated downstairs. Angel's stomach dropped into her feet. Frozen, she hovered over the sink, waves of fear pulsing through her. Angel's hand finally drifted back to her gun, and she crept silently out of the bathroom, peering down the steps.

"Ange'!" Murdoc's husky voice called out. "Ya didn't go ta bed without me, did ya?"

Adrenaline drained out of her, making her dizzy. Her hand relaxed.

"I was considering it," she called back, masking the tremble in her voice.

"Every store was closed!" he groaned. "What the hell kind of holiday spot is this?!"

Angel came down the stairs, glancing down at the distraught Murdoc with false pity.

"I guess you'll just have to settle for my lowly wine, then."

Murdoc mulled over the thought of ditching her and heading out to a bar, but he mustered every drop of self-control in his body and grabbed up the bottle of wine instead.

"You hardly drank any," he muttered, taking a long swig.

"You drank enough for the both of us," she said, passing him, her smile from earlier quite gone.

She situated the spare pillow on the couch, unfolding the light sheet she'd brought down from her room. He watched her closely.

"Yer still sleepin' down here?"

"Yep."

His brow knitted together, and he thrust a hand into his pocket, leaning heavily on one foot, looking much more like a moody teenager than a middle-aged man.

"You know we've shared a bed before. Not exactly unseemly, at this point"

Angel didn't respond.

"It don't have ta mean anything," he pressed. "If that's what you've got your knickers in a bunch about."

"You don't want me sleeping in the same bed with you," she said simply.

His face wrinkled in a grimace. Why was she treating him like a leper all of a sudden?

"How the hell do you know what I want?" he snapped, his voice edgy.

She shot a warning glance back at him. He snorted through his nose, gripping the bottle tight.

"Fine, have it your way, princess," he finally said dismissively, climbing the stairs.

Angel hesitated, watching him go. He slammed the door shut behind him, and she made a little sigh. It seemed like their relationship was back to normal, then.

Murdoc set the bottle down on the dresser with a heavy thud, scoffing as he stripped off his shirt and jeans. It was too goddamn hot.

"You don't want to sleep with me," he complained in a mocking voice, wagging his head. He scratched his crotch lazily. "Moron."

What did she know, anyway? He hadn't had a good lay in weeks, and he was surprised at how excited he was to see her, in a number of ways. Their last late-night meeting hadn't exactly been ideal or particularly satisfying, and he was eager to try again under different circumstances; namely when they didn't have two unwanted guests at the door and she wasn't having a meltdown. But Angel was different now, and her mind was even more muddled than his. She was hard to read and difficult and two-faced; it was like looking in a mirror and it irritated him.

His eyes fell on the box still laying on the bed. He stood motionless for a while, staring at it, thinking about how much he wanted to hide it or throw it out. Maybe it would stomp out whatever Angel's feelings were for him and they could have meaningless sex like he was used to and everything would be clean and simple. He smiled at the thought of pulling out the blue dress and ripping it into little pieces and throwing it in her face. That would clear things up. A feeling of immense pride and purpose swelled up within him, and he snatched the pocket knife out of his jeans.

Grinning with salacious malice, he snatched up the dress in his hand, gripping the silky fabric tight in his sweaty palm. Snickering, he stabbed the point through the hem of the cloth, making a small, satisfying rip at the bottom of the skirt. His smirk widened, feeling chills of pleasure shoot through him. He slid the sharp edge up the fabric like cutting through air, slitting the cloth from the bottom hem up to the knees.

He stared down at the tear, fondling the handle of his blade, grinning from ear to ear with childish glee. That would show her. He should never have given her the thing in the first place; it sent the wrong message. But the longer he looked at the rip, the less enjoyment he found in the idea of destroying the dress. His smirk melted into a frown; he clicked the blade shut.

The warm pleasure turned to lead in his gut, and suddenly he felt very small and guilty. The beautiful silk tore easily, and left scraggly, frayed ends of threads poking out, like sucking wounds along the smooth surface. Even if it was sewn back up it would leave a scar, a reminder. His stomach twisted and he stuffed the thing back in the box with the ripped-side down so he didn't have to look at it and see what he'd done.

He chucked the box unceremoniously under the bed, giving it a soft, half-hearted kick for good measure.

It was still too damn hot. It felt like it was getting even hotter. Murdoc threw the window open, letting a sudden breeze of cool air into the stuffy room. He could hear Angel moving around downstairs, and he suddenly felt vrey lonely; he wished he hadn't stormed off. If he'd tried harder, he could have probably convinced her to come upstairs with him, but he was tired and his eagerness to play along with this new neurotic Angel was waning. Maybe he just needed rest. He snatched the bottle of wine off the dresser.

Exhausted, he flopped down onto Angel's bed, staring up at the ceiling. At least she had a gun, he thought, his mind traveling to the revolver in his glove compartment. She wasn't as completely defenseless as he'd expected her to be when he came calling. Maybe he'd have a decent shot at surviving with her.

He reached over to the light and switched it off, laying silently in Angel's bed, staring up at the white ceiling. He drank quietly in the dark, warm room until sleep overtook him, and the bottle was drained.

Waking up to the sound of birds and the sight of dawn was altogether strange and unholy for Murdoc, and with a vicious growl he buried his head under Angel's lumpy pillow, half suffocating himself in a desperate attempt to sleep just a few more hours. The smell of Angel's cheap flowery shampoo and the scent of peppermint flooded him. He took deep long breaths, shutting his eyes tight, as if it would make him fall asleep any faster.

He was awake, though, no matter how hard he tried to fight it, and he found his senses perking up one by one despite his denial.

He could hear Angel moving around downstairs, and the soft, bubbling gurgle of a coffee maker running. The television made muted sounds that sounded like news, but he wasn't completely sure.

Angel's distant footsteps traced through the kitchen and around the living room; soft noises, like a heartbeat. Murdoc blinked against the mattress, shifting the pillow still clamped down over his head.

He heard the screen door screech open, and a vaguely familiar voice murmuring with Angel. He searched his mind for the name, but all he could think of was the woman who beat him with her broom. He grimaced. Probably came by to see if she could have another go at the human piñata sleeping upstairs.

But the voice faded away with the screech of the door, and it was just footsteps and the news again.

Unable to take breathing in the hot, heavy air under the pillow anymore, he surfaced with a gasp, taking in a deep breath of air as he sat up. A dull pain thudded in his skull.

Breathing heavily, he glanced down at the twisted sheet beside him, half-surprised when he realized there was no sleeping hooker or groupie beside him, and no need to rush out the door or sneak out the window before she woke up and asked for money or his mobile number.

He sat on his heels, his mind empty and his head aching, just sitting still because he could, and the feeling was strange. Murdoc twitched; it was almost too peaceful. He expected Angel to burst through the door demanding that he leave, or some mysterious boyfriend to come home and chase him out. But it was just him and the morning and the quiet noise downstairs. No bursting through the door. No boyfriends. It was eerie.

He didn't bother getting dressed when he finally convinced himself to get up and slink downstairs, walking into the living room in his shocking-pink, leopard print thong, his new gold reverse-cross bouncing on his bare chest.

It was a sight Angel was quite used to, but not Hazan.

She nearly dropped the coffee pot when she turned around to see Murdoc standing in the doorway, scratching his balls. She let out a horrified noise, setting the pot down in a hurry and rushing to grab the broom in the corner.

Murdoc flew back, shielding his face with his arms as he danced from one foot to the other.

"No! No no no! No broom! I've had enough of that!" he shrieked.

Hazan gripped the wooden handle tight, visibly shaking with shock and anger.

"Where are your clothes?!" she demanded in a deep voice. "How dare you walk around here like this! Get back upstairs and get dressed!"

"Okay! Okay!" he conceded, scuttling backwards out of the kitchen. "I'm going! Going up the stairs! Just no broom! Okay?!"

He cleared the steps in seconds, slamming the door shut behind him as Hazan growled loudly to herself. He wasn't sure what "sapigi" was, but he was pretty sure it was him.

He found it hard to look directly at Hazan as he sat at the breakfast table, sipping nervously at a cup of coffee. Every time he ventured a glance upwards, she was staring with her hard, amber eyes right back at him. He didn't dare reach for the little cakes that sat on a plate in the center of the table, afraid she would smack him 'round the head with a ladle or some other blunt household weapon. He tapped his fingernails against the mug.

"So, where's Ange'?" he finally asked, breaking the thick silence.

Hazan let out a puff of air through her nose, folding her arms.

"She went to buy something a few minutes ago. She asked me to look after you while she was gone. She's afraid to leave you alone." Her lips curled in a scrutinizing sneer. "I can see why."

Murdoc half-nodded, then went back to looking at the linoleum floor.

"And uh... when will she be back?"

"Soon, hopefully."

Another cold silence settled in. Desperate to fill the void, Murdoc coughed, then looked up at the woman sitting across from him.

"H-how's she been?"

Her arms tightened their knot against her torso.

"Why don't you ask her yourself? I'm sure she could tell you better than I could."

"She's uh... not very talkative as of late..."

"Then it is not my place to say anything," she said simply, taking a drink from her own cup.

"Right," Murdoc sighed, leaning his chin in his hand.

Hazan's intense eyes watched him carefully as she set her mug down gently on the table, every move she made careful and calculated.

"It is my place to know what stranger is staying in my house, however."

"It's Angel's flat," Murdoc said, with an indigence he didn't expect.

"It is still my property."

He fidgeted, turning the cup around and around on the table.

"Murdoc Niccals," he finally muttered. "Demon bass player extraordinaire, at your service, love," he said with much less enthusiasm as he usually did.

"Oh, I see. You're a musician." Her tone was cutting, as if it were all she needed to know. But then she asked in a firm tone, "Are you in trouble?"

"I'm always in trouble."

"Are you in particular trouble now?"

He said nothing, but glanced away to the floor again.

"Because I would very much dislike the idea of a miscreant sleeping in my tenant's bed. They might get her in more trouble than he's worth. Maybe they'll hurt her. Maybe he's hurt her before."

His eyes snapped back over to Hazan, his face growing red with a combination of anger and indigence. He sat up straight, gripping onto the handle of his mug so tightly he thought it might have broken off.

"Are you saying I did that to her?"

"I don't know. She seemed rather frightened of you when you arrived, then locked you out of the house last night."

He ground his teeth together, his lips pulled back in a snarl.

"I didn't lay a hand on her!"

It was vaguely true, and any time he ever had, she dealt him back tenfold. But the idea of her thinking he was some kind of wife beater, like he'd done that with his own hand, made a burning rage bubble up inside him.

"I would never—!"

The screeching of the screen door shut him up, and he whirled around to see Angel coming in his a brown bag on her hip.

"Where the bloody hell have you been?" he spat out. "You left me with Xena the Warrior Princess over here without as much as a warning!"

She glanced from him to Hazan warily, not bothering to shut the wooden door behind her.

"I figured you'd sleep till noon. Nice to see you two getting along, though," she said, her tone dripping with sarcasm.

"Your friend exposed himself to me."

"I didn't expose nothing! I wasn't even naked! Angel, tell her that's me being polite! You know!"

Angel said nothing as she walked around the pair, setting the heavy bag down on the counter.

"Well, as thrilling as this morning has been, I think I'll take my leave," Hazan said suddenly, moving to get her broom.

"Thanks for keeping an eye on him," Angel said under her breath as the woman passed.

"I'll still be keeping an eye on him," she replied. "You be careful."

Angel smiled softly.

"He's harmless. Practically a lap dog, right Murdoc?" she said louder.

He made a sour face at her from over the edge of his cup. Hazan made a skeptical noise, but nodded, and left without another word. Angel turned her back on Murdoc, unpacking her bag.

"Sorry, she's a little defensive."

"A little? She could scare the shit out of a man just looking at him! Tell her to come off it! I'm not some abusive boyfriend coming back ta kick the shit outta you..."

Angel pulled a six pack of beer from the brown bag, snickering under her breath.

"You still haven't really said what you've come back for, though. Maybe if you made what you want from me a little more clear..."

Suddenly she realized he was no longer in the chair, and she felt his body heat radiate against her back. She jumped, gripping hard onto the counter as the bones of his hips pressed into her. Her hands balled up into fists, and she fought hard against the strong urge to slam them into his face. He could feel her grow tense under him and smiled.

"Am I making you nervous, Ange?"

"Nervous isn't the word I'd use," she spat. "I don't like being snuck up on."

His long fingernails ghosted over the back of her neck, running along her hairline. Her body twitched.

"I'm not kidding."

"I heard ya," he murmured.

His lips brushed her ear and ran over her neck, and she could feel his smirk against her.

"Stop it."

"I'm not gonna hurt you," he chuckled.

"I said stop!"

She bucked into him, sending him reeling backwards into the table. He scrambled to stay standing, too stunned to speak. Angel's eyes were wide, and her face hard and seveare, and he knew there was something wrong. She wasn't playing, not simply being coy, but his very touch angered her. Or maybe scared her, he wasn't quite sure.

Her breathing lightened all of a sudden her expression relaxed. She returned to her unpacking.

"Are you hungry?" she asked, as if nothing had happened.

But Murdoc just grunted a "no", leaning against the table. He was stunned; the turnaround from horrified to calm was almost instant, and it confused him. What in the hell happened?

He sat down with his coffee again, and, very unlike himself, sat quietly and watched Angel from a distance as she made herself something to eat. As far as he was concerned, until he could sell Angel on the idea of letting him stay, her word had to be law.

So he sipped at his coffee, bristling inside with impatience, and Angel made eggs.


	48. Chapter 48 Hazy

Murdoc was a pro at making himself at home. It wasn't long until he was cat-calling at the girls in bikinis from the porch, a smoke in one hand and a bottle in the other, lounging shirtless on the banister. He took to slicking the hair constantly hanging in his eyes back like an out-of-place greaser, the sweat on his brow making his fringe greasy and messy. He said it made him look cool. Angel didn't disagree.

He stole Angel's black leather jacket and wore it out at night, she didn't tell him not to. He smoked in the house, but whenever Angel would catch him, she'd drag him by the hair or the collar to the nearest window, and he barely put up a fight.

Angel refused to sleep in her own bed, keeping to the couch downstairs, much to his dismay. Murdoc would hear strange sounds from the living room at night sometimes, but he knew it was the television on late. By the time the muttering got too loud for him to sleep and he went storming down the steps, Angel had shut it off and pretended to sleep. He wondered how much she actually slept, since she always looked like death warmed over the next morning. She chugged coffee like water.

But he didn't ask, because he knew she wouldn't answer.

But other than the noise at late and making him smoke at the window, Angel turned out to be a primo flat mate. He never really took much notice of her as a roommate at Kong—the building was so big and he was out so often that he barely saw her for a large part of the day. But now that they were cramped up in the little condo, they were seeing much more of each other, and he had to admit, he'd never lived with someone so... normal.

She let him get up at noon, and get to sleep at three if he wanted. No complaints about playing music, or what music, or to stop drinking or smoking or to put some clothes on. He got three square meals a day—Angel always seemed to know when he was and wasn't hungry—and a safe bed to sleep in. It was so normal it almost scared him.

Hazan seemed to be taking on a small liking for him. Every once in a while, Angel would be invited over for dinner, and, to his surprise, Murdoc was too. They would sit on the floor by the low table and eat with Hazan, and she never once hit him over the head with something. Her almond cakes were winning him over, and slowly, he decided she wasn't such a bad broad after all.

Angel came and went, and she let him come and go as he pleased as long as he didn't get himself into too much trouble or bring home a girl. She was much quieter than she'd been at Kong, but she was a good listener and never got glossy-eyed or irritated when he went off on a tangent. In fact, she seemed to enjoy hearing his stories and she would get a warm little smile on her face like before and she looked a little less like a mauled dog fighter.

He watched her closely, and the longer he did, the more he noticed about her erratic, two-face behavior. She didn't like to be snuck-up on or touched without warning, and could go from sweet to bitch in ten seconds flat when he did. She was uneasy around strangers and didn't like it when he stared at her scar. Sometimes he couldn't help it—it was just so... there. The white and pink marks took up nearly half of the left side of her face, and wound their way over her nose up to the other side. It was hard not to look.

He experimented with her, pushing her buttons, finding what was acceptable and what got him the back of her hand. He found, through a good deal of trial and error, that if he announced himself before coming into a room, or gave her ample warning that a touch was coming, she was normal and calm and didn't wipe the floor with him. He took to making over-the-top grand entrances whenever he could and making big, exaggerated gestures before putting a hand on her shoulder or her back. Angel laughed at him, but it was better than screaming at him.

It got too hot to go outside after a week of staying with Angel, and the house was barely any better. He looked like he'd melted onto whatever surface he was leaning on and complained all day about the unrelenting heat. Angel seemed unaffected, trotting around the house in shorts and tee shirts while Murdoc could barely keep his underwear on without feeling like he was going to die. Even the fans strategically placed around the house didn't help much. He tended to camp out up in the bedroom, one inch from the window fan.

"Can't you turn up the AC?" he groaned, incredibly close to shaving his head if it would make him any cooler.

"We don't have any air conditioning," she said, pressing a cold glass of water to his temple.

He whined, gripping the glass tight.

"What kind of rat-hole do you live in without any central air?!"

"Hazan and I are used to it," she said simply, setting her own glass on the bedside table as she flopped down on the mattress.

He ran his fingers through his greasy mop, brushing his bangs aside to let the fan blow against his forehead.

"I fucking miss England," he muttered bitterly.

She rolled onto her stomach, leaning her chin in her hands.

"I'm not keeping you prisoner."

He shot her a dirty look.

"You control the weather. You're just doing this to torture me, I know it. This is your fault."

She wiggled her fingers tauntingly at him. He chucked a shirt at her, missing completely.

"Can't we go somewhere cool?"

"If you want to wander around in that heat to find somewhere to go, be my guest. The coolest place is the library."

"You sound like a shitty public service announcement trying to get little snots to read," he murmured, staring up at the ceiling.

"The heat's getting to you I see."

He flung himself forward to stand, scratching his chest.

"No, not at all."

He reached for his package of cigarettes on the window.

"Not in here."

Murdoc wailed, throwing his arms down at his sides like a child having a tantrum.

"Ange', I'm dying! You're going to suck the last ounce of pleasure out of an old dying man! You harpy!"

He sunk dramatically to the floor in a heap. She pursed her lips.

"Fine, just this once. But if Hazan asks me where that smell is coming from, I'll serve you up on a silver platter."

He lit up before she finished the sentence, blowing out a puff of smoke with a long groan. Crawling across the carpet, he dragged himself up onto the bed, sprawling out beside her.

"Kill me," he pleaded.

"That's the opposite of what you've been asking me to do so far."

Angel bundled her hands up under the sheet, leaning her chin on the makeshift pillow.

"What exactly were you up to when you were running from the Clouds, anyway?" she asked suddenly.

He looked up, his mismatched eyes peering out from under his hair. He moved the cigarette from one corner of his mouth to the other.

"A lot of things."

"Like?" she pressed.

He snorted.

"Why do you care, nosey lil' tart?"

"Fine, we'll sit in silence."

The cigarette bounced with his little chuckle, and he leaned down on his elbows.

"Well, let's see..." He took a drag, reaching back into his memory dramatically. "After I dragged your half-dead arse back to Tuss-Pot's and stitched up yer face, I went back to Kong and... took care of the situation."

"Situation?"

He gave her a long look, the end of his cigarette glowing orange with his breath.

"Burnt Kong to the ground."

She felt as if he'd punched her in the gut.

"You burnt it?"

"To the ground—I thought I said that. Had to. Nasty mess inside, you see, and it was falling apart anyway. There wasn't any way we could stay there anymore; too conspicuous."

Angel gripped the blanket tight, her brow furrowing, but Murdoc went on without notice.

"But I managed to grab the Winnebago, and yer Indian motorbike—don't think I forgot about my little promise ta pass it off to you," he said with a lop-sided smirk. "That's an expensive bike, dearie, and I have to have someone look after it. Took the bike to Billy Boy's—" he glanced at her nervously, trying to ignore her reddening face at the name, "—and high-tailed it right outta Essex. I looped around Wales and came back down, and that seemed to shake 'em loose. When I thought I was in the clear I made a bee-line for D's."

He stared up at her, his eyes hard.

"But you were MIA, so I moved on."

She bit back her comment and stayed silent, listening. He watched her skeptically.

"Headed down to Brussels for a while, then went through Germany till the Winnie got stuck in a ditch somewhere outside Berlin and I had to leave it."

His smirk crumpled into a pained grimace—it was like losing his home. He blew a puff of smoke out of the corner of his mouth.

"Hitch-hiked down through Italy and stayed with a model for a while."

With that, he shot her a huge smirk, his eyes narrowing.

"And that was about the only good thing that came outta being chased down by a bunch of pissed off gun-runners."

Angel didn't take the bait.

"She was a bombshell, lemme tell you. Blonde. Natural, I can attest to that, heh-heh-heh..."

"And then—?"

"She picked me up in a busy street, just came up and started chatt'n me up in Italian, and all of a sudden I noticed her hand was on my—"

"Do you really think I'm going to play this game?" she snickered.

"She didn't speak a lick of English, but she really didn't have to dearie, her tongue did all the talking."

"Oh really?" she said off-handedly, mocking interest.

"Yeah," he whispered, crawling over to her on his hands and knees. "Talented speaker. She was tan like you. Had a little fairy tattoo."

Angel folded her arms, refusing to give him the wild jealously he wanted.

"Where?"

He hovered over her, his knees pressing into her sides. He touched her skin carefully, then slid his hand up her leg, gripping her naked thigh tight, his knuckles pressing hard into her.

"Right here."

"Sexy," she managed coolly, keeping her mouth a thin, tight line.

"I thought so."

His touch didn't alarm her—she felt calm despite the rush of blood to her face. He leaned down on her, taking the stub of a cigarette between his fingers. As long as he kept her talking, kept her distracted, she would be fine. He smirked. What better way to keep her chatting than make her jealous?

"She did this one thing, drove me crazy."

"Really?"

"Mm-hm."

"What was it?"

He took a thoughtful drag, blowing smoke out through his nose, hovering an inch from her.

"I doubt you could do it, she was very flexible."

"I'm sure she was."

His calloused fingers ran up her side, rough against her skin.

"You know what the funniest part was?"

"Tell me," she said, trying to hide the sigh in her voice.

"I was in disguise and spoke with an American accent the whole time, so she called me 'Americano'. Only thing I understood."

"That's a riot, Muds."

Her tone was steady despite the fact that he was currently shoving his free hand into her pants, having tossed his cigarette into her glass of water on the bedside table.

"I wore these thick-rimmed glasses, and when she went down on me they fell off my face and hit her in the eye."

She snorted a laugh in between breaths, clamping his hand between her thighs as he unbuttoned her shorts with the other.

"She bit down on me and I nearly kicked her in the throat."

"Are you trying to seduce me or give me a warning, Muds?"

He smirked against her waist, struggling the jean shorts down over her knees. It was so damn hot in the tiny, stuffy room, and he was sweating.

"She choked me with my own tie."

"You wear ties?" she snapped with a smile, her fingers scratching his scalp.

"Not the point, Ange'. I was in disguise."

"As what, a tax collect—ER!"

His lizard tongue left a wet trail from the crook of her thigh to her hip bone, his sharp teeth grinding into her skin as he went.

"No, I was a pornographer. I had to make money somehow, girlie."

She slapped him half-heartedly over the back of the head, and he bit down hard on her, making her yelp.

"No biting," she snapped, her smile temporarily gone.

He muttered a meaningless apology, his lips moving over her navel. She squirmed uncomfortably, anxiety kicking in as he pulled her closer, gripping her waist tight. His eye flicked up to her under the hair of hair.

"She had a nice flat, and nicer friends, hehehe..."

"Friends?" she breathed, trying to calm herself.

"Oh yeah, tons. Is there a term for a ten-way?"

"A chiropractor's dream?"

"You've got that right," he growled against her.

He struggled the damp shirt off his back, getting stuck halfway, and Angel had to pull it off him as it stuck to his wet skin. She was laughing again.

"I can see why you're so popular with the ladies, Muds. You're as smooth as they come."

"Shaddup, I'm not tryin' to impress you. If I was, you'd have finished by now."

He slid up to her lips, hovering over them. He glanced to the left side of her face, where the skin grew mountainous and pink. Murdoc stared. Angel fidgeted. His cross tapped gently against her chin.

"She had really red lipstick," he finally continued, leaning down to her cheek.

His tongue trailed over the wide scars, sending shivers of shock through her. She couldn't feel him, but she could feel the pressure against her and it made her twitch.

"It was really messy, got everywhere. She ruined my best thong. I was pissed afterwards."

She reached out tentatively, into the hem of his jeans and snapped the band of his hot pink underwear. A deep chuckle bubbled up from her throat.

"Why do you wear those things?"

"So the girls aren't shocked by my impressive gift-to-women when they come off."

"Tasteful."

"I think so."

Her fingers moved on puppet strings, and soon she was unzipping his pants, the tips of her nails running over the silk underneath.

"You dressed up just for me?" she said, smirking.

"I always dress up, love. Better to be safe than sorry. You never know when a good shag will come al—HNG!"

A deep groan rolled out of him as Angel rubbed her knuckles along the bulge in his thong. Fear left her as she touched him—he was the same, he was safe.

"Get that damn shirt off, it's too hot," he snarled, grabbing at her top.

Murdoc struggled his boots off, and after a dozen 'shit's and 'goddamn's he shucked off the jeans beside them. Angel watched him and laughed openly.

"Shaddup. Wait till you're older. You won't be laughin'."

"Come 'ere, old man," she said, her tone warm and familiar, and Murdoc nearly let out a sigh of relief.

"You're not gonna hulk out on me when I touch you?" he snickered, crawling up to her.

"I think I can make an exception," sounding sure, but she still twitched a bit when he sat on her hips.

He sucked on her lip, running his impossibly long fingernails over her scalp, leaving little red marks down the back of her neck. He grinned wolfishly against her. She trembled against him. Murdoc smirked, but as he ran his free hand up her shirt, he realized the shaking wasn't from pleasure. He broke from her lips and went to pulling the edge of her shirt up.

"She never wore knickers."

"What?" Angel stammered.

"The model," he murmured, pulling the shirt over her head. "She'd wear skirts with no knickers, and no trainer, and she'd shag me anywhere that struck her fancy."

He grabbed at her underwear, pulling it down to her knees, then kicked them the rest of the way off impatiently, struggling his thong off with it.

Reaching for his jacket on the floor, he snatched up a condom, fumbling with the wrapper.

"She did me under a table in a cafe, once, with her manager sitting two away."

"I find that hard to believe," she breathed, her thighs tensing as he rolled the condom on. "You're very loud."

"I can bite my tongue when I have to." He grabbed her up by the hips, pulling her down to meet him. "Do I have to bite it now?"

"Hazan's at work."

He hovered, pressing himself up against her.

"You ready?"

She nodded curtly. He pushed in, Angel arching with a garbled hiss and whine. He snatched her by the hair, tugging her head back gently.

"She topped most of the time," he said on an exhale. "She had filthier ideas than I did."

He found a slow, deep rhythm that Angel rocked into, her hands clutching at his shoulders, nails leaving deep marks. The shaking subsided. She leaned forward, leaning her head against his collarbone.

"L-like what?"

He cackled, a dry, dark laugh.

"You don't want to know."

She opened her eyes, snickering. Angel looked up at Murdoc and was stuck dumb. Her muscles froze, her eyes going wide.

Hands, she felt hands on her face and her neck and her chest and they were pulling and pushing and grabbing. She could feel herself choking, her scarf being pulled tight around her mouth, gagging her, cutting off her breaths as her face was being split open. She was cold.

Her knees thudded against Murdoc as she writhed, struggling under him. He chuckled, kissing along the back of her ear.

"Hey, quit kicking. I know I'm good, but—"

With a loud grunt, she shoved him away, knocking him onto his ass with a cry of surprise. He leaned back on his hands, Angel shrinking away from him.

"What the hell was that?" he snapped, confused. "I thought you were fine!"

Her wide eyes welled up, and she had to look away.

"I-I can't right now," she said quietly.

She headed for the door, hurrying out naked.

"Ange'!" he called, eyebrows furrowing. "ANGEL!"

The bathroom door slammed shut.

Murdoc flopped back onto the mattress, grinding his wrists into his eyes, growling. She'd been doing fine! Everything seemed to be working, and she was good and distracted and calm and warm, and for no reason...

He sat up, staring daggers out the door.

He was a reminder.

Murdoc convinced Angel to sleep in her own bed for the night. She didn't speak much to him, keeping her head ducked down.

He couldn't sleep, though, pacing the house restlessly. He made a pot of coffee to keep himself busy, rooting through her cabinets for something to eat. He didn't feel like going out, even to do a beer run in town. The house was quiet, except for the sound of wind blowing through the second floor and the sound of gentle rain pattering against the roof. He climbed the stairs, feeling the cool breeze against his chest.

Murdoc hovered by the door, unwilling to cross the threshold into Angel's bedroom. She laid, her back to him, sleeping, strewn over the bed with her hands tucked under the pillow, one leg over the blanket and the other buried beneath. He watched her, silent, unmoving as he stood in his underwear, clinging to the warm cup of coffee in his hands. He wondered, quietly, in a place in his mind he usually didn't allow himself to go to, if this was what everyone else did.

Watching someone else sleep, just sleep in the middle of a hot night, with the rain falling warm outside, making pattering noises on the roof and a steady dripping while the house settled and everything seemed unimportant. He leaned against the doorframe.

It wasn't the life for him, and had anyone asked if it was what he wanted, he would have said it would bore him right out of his skull. But as he stood, unworrying, calm in the middle of the night, not waking to the sound of someone screaming at him or startled to find himself in a place he didn't recognize, or in a cold-sweating paranoia that someone was lurking right outside the door to blow him away, he enjoyed the moment for what it was.

He would have lost all respect for himself if he'd ever said it aloud, and he felt quite stupid standing there like a loon, getting all sentimental and squishy. It was unnatural for him. Waking up next to someone he didn't know was natural. Nursing a broken nose at three in the morning after a bar fight was natural. But domestic bliss? He scoffed. No, not him.

Not at all.

But still he stood there, watching Angel do nothing interesting but take in oxygen and breathe out carbon dioxide and not even so much as twitch in between. And still he felt like the world wasn't going to come in around him and he felt...safe.

Murdoc took a drink from the cup.

He was still a bloody moron. Maybe he needed another good bender.

He lingered another few moments, enough to let himself finish his cup and set it on the dresser, next to Angel's hairbrush and keys. Quietly, carefully, he circled the bed and pressed himself gently down, slinking into bed next to her. She mumbled, shifting over unconsciously for him, and he slipped into place, her arm coming over him to rest against his bare chest. She wouldn't let him sleep with her, still, but he'd never listened to her before, and he wasn't about to start now.

He stared out the window at the streetlamps and the night sky and the trees and felt like, if there was somewhere on Earth that he could be someone else for just a little while, it was here.

And after a moment of quiet thought, he closed his eyes and drifted to sleep without the commotion of the city, and without the paranoia, and without the rum.


End file.
